A Moving Sea
by Marzipan77
Summary: Missing scenes for SGA First Contact and The Lost Tribe. Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or craving absolution in discovery?
1. Chapter 1

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

He drew a deep breath, letting the broad vista of swarming light fill up his mind. The emptiness of the room, the noiseless hum that crept along his muscles from where the soles of his feet connected with the deck, the darkness at his back – they all spoke to him of space and silence, of the peace that was night aboard the Daedalus. And night gave him freedom, freedom from his expected role of prophet and legend, from the mask he assumed under the watching eyes of the crew, from the mantle of SG-1, the opener of the 'gate, the sorrowing scholar, the de-Ascended One. Here, now, standing before the awe-inspiring flow of hyperspace, watching the galaxy slip by around him, here, he could be simply Daniel.

It had been some time since he'd traveled alone. The space at his sides seemed still crowded with ghosts, with teammates old and new, with playful banter, fleeting touches, and the warmth of belonging. But through the years the team had dwindled even as it grew, bonds fraying to memories of connections, and the particular space into which he himself had fit was worn and ragged. His office felt dry and brittle, not the comforting home he'd once wrapped around him like a blanket; the faces he passed everyday were blank masks, without life or meaning. Or, more probably, it was he that was disconnected. Life under the mountain had transformed him from a living man into a gruff, crusty troll – a thing of story and fable instead of bone and blood, thought and love and fear.

One hand pressed against the metal bulkhead between the floor to ceiling window, Daniel's thoughts were thrust into the past, to warmer days beneath double suns, to comfortable nights forcing down Air Force MREs around a fitful campfire, to losses and griefs and friendships hard-won and connections welded strongly by the unimaginable. Faces flitted by, each one surrounded by the context of affection, hate, love, denial, loyalty, bitterness, sorrow. Strong, resilient filaments had grown around his heart, connecting him relentlessly with the few who he had let inside, who had accepted his flawed hopes and selfish dreams and all the rest of the complex light and dark that made up his soul.

Sam. Sister. Mother. Sounding board and competitor. A study of contrasts, logical ambiguities and random regularity. Air Force blue blood in her veins. She'd liked him better when he was too young, too wounded, too naïve and hopeful to fit in. When she could lead him by the hand or wrap her arms around him to hold him together. And when the sometimes friendly, sometimes nasty competition between them hadn't yet shifted to private jealousy and secret wishes.

Teal'c. Unwanted brother and fixed point of grief in Daniel's life. Every deep wound in his heart was connected, somehow, to the Jaffa warrior's hands. And yet, the bright blaze of their connection, at least, had never dimmed. Teal'c was both the most and least complicated of all of them. A true friend.

The General. Daniel smiled to himself. No matter who sat in the office or signed the paperwork, there would only ever be one General in Daniel's memory. George Hammond. Grandfather, mentor, overseer of Daniel's maturation. Passionate protector, straight-talking confidant. The man Daniel dreaded disappointing more than any other.

Mitchell and Vala – strange, ill-fitting step-siblings that had, despite Daniel's best intentions, scraped out places within his heart. Vala, the flirting dilettante who bore hidden scars as deep – deeper – than his own. And Mitchell; flyboy, partner, sometime fan turned rock who'd given Daniel someone to follow who never demanded submission.

Leaving only … Jack.

Masked with the simple, shallow façade he showed to the world, Jack O'Neill was a complex mix of friend and foe that filled Daniel senses with the heady feeling of home and love and acceptance even while Jack shoved him away with cruel and cunning purpose. His teasing dance with Sam, his stormy presence at Daniel's side, the effortless way Jack had of demanding all of Daniel's attention and devotion, had smoldered, spat, until, finally, the last spark died.

Something had told him to touch each of those threads connected to his heart before this trip – before they were frayed by time and distance. A night on the town with Mitchell and Vala. A time of quiet repose within Teal'c's new home among his Jaffa brothers. A long talk with Sam. A few hours at George Hammond's bedside, sharing what might be the last warm words a truly great man ever spoke to him.

The visit to Washington didn't work out quite as well.

And, barely days into this three week journey aboard the Daedalus, Daniel wondered why he'd finally decided to take this step. To let go of the half-life he'd been clutching so tightly, and, finally, _finally_, set his sights on Atlantis. To go to the place that had been at the end of so many of his searches, to the place the Ancients had built with their own hands and that had tugged at him since Elizabeth Weir and Rodney McKay took that first giant step five years ago.

The familiar bitterness burst across his tongue. Atlantis. _Daniel's_ discovery – his destiny – denied to him by those who had claimed to know better. First Jack. And then Landry. Weir. Mitchell. Sam. Woolsey. Every one of them become a barrier to his search, every one of them setting up roadblocks on a path that shone as clear as moonlight on a Minnesota lake before Daniel's eyes.

Then Daniel had found Janus's notes. Mere footnotes in the vast, bottomless archives that he'd studied in every quiet moment between crises, with every deep breath allowed to him amidst other people's priorities and among every crumpled handful of images thrust out to him by eager SG teams and complacent commanders who believed that Daniel Jackson's time belonged to them. That Daniel himself was a tool, a reference book, a resident brain that turned on when his office door was opened like some quarter-eating mechanical fortune teller at the arcade. A resource that they were shocked each and every time to find came connected to a troublesome mouth and bothersome morals.

The Goa'uld. The Replicators. The Ori. Always another enemy, another puzzle, another threat, another reason he had to stay. Until now; until the Ark of Truth. The secret weapon that had left flesh and blood unwounded and yet had torn the hearts and souls of Priors into small bleeding scraps. He'd seen them with his own eyes, watched the jibbering wrecks hunched into shuddering balls; he'd witnessed the screaming grief, the empty self-loathing, the infantile mewling that replaced arrogance and bravado and militant, wild-eyed faith. He'd held some tightly against his chest as they'd wept, pleading for forgiveness. He'd restrained some who were crazed and violent. And he'd cut some down from self-made hangman's ropes. For many – so achingly, mind-numbingly many – he'd been too late and could only stand over their corpses, their graves, after they'd been ripped to pieces by their own followers.

He'd hidden within his research before; turned his back on the sorrow, the torturous chaos of the world for his own world of books and words and languages. And, for whatever reason, these tidbits, these random scrawlings about Janus, the Ancient scientist, the rebel, the freethinker who had found a way to confuse and confound those who would rein him in – they had reached out to his emotionally exhausted mind and untangled themselves into meaning amongst the madness, just when he'd needed it the most.

The same day the letter came.

"Doctor Jackson?"

A figure seemed to solidify out of the dark reflection of the window, ghostlike. Daniel raised his head, straightening aching shoulders without turning.

"Colonel."

Something like a smile slashed across Colonel Steven Caldwell's strong face. "Now I see why some of the mess crew have reported that we have a poltergeist aboard."

Eyelids heavy, Daniel glanced down at the empty cup in his hand and smiled. Commissary workers must be the same everywhere, counting sugar packets and lining up cream pitchers with OCD-like absorption. He knew he had never left a mess, but he hadn't exactly tried to cover his tracks, either. "Sorry."

Caldwell shrugged, hands slanting into the pockets of his flight suit. "Not a problem. You're free to come and go as you please."

He ducked his head in a grateful nod. "Can't imagine spending three weeks in quarters," his eyebrows rose as he locked eyes with the other man's reflection. "Really can't imagine how you and the crew manage on a full time basis."

Caldwell stepped to the other edge of the broad window, gaze searching the streams of color beyond the clear sheet as if he could see familiar patterns in the torrents of energy. Then again, maybe he could, Daniel thought.

"We have the same kind of schedule as deployed Navy. And probably just about as much 'personal space.'"

Daniel didn't have to look to see the wry twist of his mouth.

The silence stretched – not uncomfortably. Daniel allowed himself to be drawn back down into the emotional morass within him.

"The only thing I really miss is the sky."

The colonel's words shifted Daniel's focus to the present. Daniel couldn't help but notice that, in a trick of optics, their two figures' reflections seemed to stand side by side, shoulders nearly brushing, not separated by the cold, two meter width of the window. He shivered, frozen space seeping into him through the thin barrier via his shoulder and hip. He cleared his throat, reaching for normalcy. "The sky?"

For the first time, Caldwell turned his head and the two faced each other. "Can't step out on the deck and feel the sun on your face, the wind across your skin."

Daniel breathed deep as if he could pull in the scent of the sea. "You've served on ships before."

Caldwell dipped his head. "Aircraft carrier in the Gulf."

His nail scraped at a dried smear of coffee on the rim of the cup. "You miss it?"

A chuckle hitched the colonel's shoulders up, once. "When I've got this?" He shook his head. "And Atlantis is like the world's biggest carrier. With much better accommodations."

Daniel had barely had a taste. A year ago, deeply entrenched in the battle with the Ori, he'd made this journey; on another ship, with another commander, surrounded by the noise and energy and distraction of his team. He'd stood on the bridge and drank in the first sight of the pale blue planet, the ethereal spires of Atlantis gleaming in the sunrise. But he'd been so busy, so focused, that the striking colors and shapes, the crystal and glass and fragile looking architecture had registered simply as the offhand thought that Frank Lloyd Wright must have been an Ancient.

And now, the weight of his victory bending him like an old man, Daniel could only remember losses. Paul Emerson. Merlin. Morgan Le Fay. He longed to stand on the Atlantis pier and breathe the ocean of another world, to feel the sun against his skin and trail his fingers along the Ancient's city come alive again, and to, finally, take the steps long denied him into the Ancient world, to take the ATA therapy and feel their technology come awake beneath his hands as their language and thought did in his mind. To claim life instead of the death that stalked his dreams and drove him from his bed into the cold, clanging corridors of the Daedalus.

"I've always kinda wondered why, with all the trips O'Neill has made, with Colonel Carter's command, even Teal'c visited - why you …" Caldwell let the question trail out into silence as if giving voice to his curiosity would have diminished something between them.

The fuse of Daniel's anger hadn't been quite snuffed out and he felt his jaw clench, his hands gripping the coffee cup, and knew, by the unsettled twitch of the colonel's brow that his eyes blazed with too much intensity. "It's not as if I haven't tried, Colonel," he managed to grind out with more control than he imagined he was still capable of.

They'd fought him – again – as if it was a knee-jerk reaction, as expected as saliva from Pavlov's dogs. Landry, who had always treated Daniel as if he was a barely tolerated millstone that Jack O'Neill had hung around his neck, had waved him off with an unconcealed grimace. Mitchell had listened and nodded with that flash of unease behind his eyes that accompanied any suggestion that Daniel's place might expand beyond the confines of the new/old SG-1. Sam, still smarting from her recall, had been adamant that Daniel not get mixed up in the politics and posturing of the IOA, nor put himself into a position to be used.

And then there was Jack.

Best friend, cold-eyed stranger, big brother, verbal sparring partner – Jack O'Neill had blandly raised one eyebrow and sighed.

"What, this again? Bored, are we?" he'd sniped from behind a desk – _a desk_ – in the Pentagon. A thousand miles from beer and pizza and hockey and warmth beneath Colorado skies.

Daniel had sat stiffly in the well appointed office and studied the man who he'd stepped into the unknown beside for nearly ten years. The man who he'd died to protect before they'd even said hello. Who had challenged and taunted and held him together through failure and victory, and had long taken up residence within Daniel's heart. And then had walked away.

He remembered watching from the control room, watching the eighth chevron of the 'gate address connect, watching the stream of humanity slip through the wormhole to Pegasus. He'd watched, silently, at Jack's side. Remembered how deep the wound had stabbed that Weir and McKay hadn't wanted him, hadn't even approached him about joining them. How Jack had smirked and smiled and waggled his ridiculous finger, never allowing the question to be fully formed on Daniel's lips.

"You approved it once," Daniel had reminded him.

Jack had shaken his head. "And then your little groupie came through and put the kibosh on that plan. Ever think that was the Great Bird of the Galaxy's way of telling you to stay home?"

"No."

Jack had sighed, that world-weary, Daniel-Jackson-veteran sigh that fired Daniel's anger and turned his words icy and sharp and capable of drawing blood.

"I will go this time, Jack. Whether you or Landry like it or not." The letter had been a blistering, searing coal in his pocket. "The Daedalus leaves in 48 hours. I plan to be aboard by this time tomorrow."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Jack had matched him, stare for stare, still under the mistaken impression that Daniel would back down before his sarcasm, his arrogant assurance that the stars on his shoulders should sway him where the last lingering ties of their friendship did not.

Daniel had stood, nodding. "Yes, I do. With absolutely nothing to keep me here, I'm sure the President will approve a short term posting to Atlantis if you don't."

"Daniel."

He hadn't waited. Hadn't turned back. "I'm done playing, Jack," he remembered muttering as he snagged his coat from the rack and strode down the hallway, his military escort hustling to catch up.

The guard at the first checkpoint was just replacing the telephone in its cradle when Daniel flashed his ID. "Doctor Jackson? General O'Neill has ordered, uh," he swallowed and shifted his weight awkwardly, gaze going back to the phone, "has _asked_ if you would mind waiting a moment while his assistant inks your new orders."

Ten minutes later he'd tucked the folder containing Jack's orders into his briefcase and the envelope with his name hastily scrawled in familiarly bad handwriting into his pocket. Right next to the other one he intended to ignore.

"Well, for what it's worth," Caldwell's words drew him back – again, "it's good to have you aboard."

Daniel glanced a 'thank you' in his direction.

The colonel straightened. "And, my door is always open."

Daniel's gaze returned to the aurora of light clouding the window. Caldwell seemed like a good man, but trading war stories – that was simply not going to happen. "Sorry, Colonel. I'm an archaeologist; rehashing the recent past doesn't hold much appeal."

Caldwell's reflection stiffened. "I meant, if you were interested in any information about Atlantis – about any minefields you might find when you stepped aboard. Especially Doctor McKay's hot buttons at the moment," he added, amusement coloring his voice.

Closing his eyes at his own stupid assumptions, his selfish arrogance, Daniel snorted. "Of course. Thank you." He forced himself to turn, to extend his hand. "Thank you, Colonel." Caldwell closed his hand around Daniel's without any of the macho straining for dominance that he might expect.

"Three weeks is a long time to be cooped up in your bunk, but even longer to go without sleep, Doctor. I think there are usually a few games of chess going on in the officer's lounge if you're desperate."

"Daniel."

The colonel quirked a smile. "I don't think the chain of command will fall to pieces if you call me Steven."


	2. Chapter 2

A Moving Sea

Chapter Two

Richard Woolsey lifted his head, gaze focusing on the steady movements of the men and women in the Atlantis control room beyond his office. He smoothed one hand down the front of his uniform jacket in a habitual gesture that he had yet to break, as if he was checking the straightness of his tie. Strange how one reached for the simplest things when seeking comfort, or strength, or normalcy. In the past few years, ever since he'd been introduced to the Stargate program, he'd had little enough of that.

His fingers tapped silently along the control panel set into his desk as he considered the communiqué he'd received. Daniel Jackson was coming to Atlantis. He was already on his way. And there was nothing Richard could do to stop him.

Daniel Jackson.

Seething, grief-stricken scholar who had all but demanded reprimand or censure – or any penalty Richard or the government would bring to bear – blue eyes glassy and tortured following the death of Doctor Janet Frasier.

Quietly, firmly, and oh-so eloquently arguing for Khalek's execution behind the scorn of General Landry's sarcasm. And then just as firmly turning his back on Richard's apology after Khalek had proved him right by murdering two airmen and nearly destroying the SGC.

And then, finally, the lifeless white face carved with sickening Ori symbols, the dead eyes, the impassive, effortless power that had slammed his guards to the ground and pinned Richard to the wall. That face still haunted some of his most frightening nightmares – that face coupled with the drained, utterly weary – utterly human – Daniel Jackson who had limped back onto the base surrounded by his team and shoved his victory into Richard's face yet again.

No, he shook his head, no, that wasn't fair. Daniel Jackson rarely had need to resort to "I told you so's," or "you should have listened to me's." And his victories were often underscored with deeply wounding costs, with newer, fresher losses – losses that cut deeply into the younger man's conscience – losses which Richard was forced to point out to the man and his supporters time and time again.

No – every interaction with Daniel Jackson has been tense, life-threatening, confrontational. He quirked a half-smile at his own equivocations. The fact remained; Richard himself had once suggested Jackson's execution as the best possible solution to a problem. And now, the man had insisted on coming to Atlantis – and Richard had been ordered – by two military generals – to see to his safety. He'd been given his marching orders, with no possibility of misunderstanding.

Richard rose carefully to his feet, face deliberately set to its accustomed neutrality. The office was really too small for pacing, but he felt the urge to move and yet was not quite ready to meet the curious stares of any of the Atlantis personnel.

He was still very much a stranger here – an interloper. And Jackson's sudden visit, ostensibly to do pure research into Atlantis' past, reminded him of that fact. While Richard had no doubt of his own skills as a diplomat and an administrator, Daniel Jackson had been involved in the Stargate program from its inception – in fact, one could say, without Doctor Jackson, there would be no Stargate program. It was he who had opened the 'gate to Atlantis, who interacted with Ancients – even becoming Ascended himself. He had penned more treaties, analyzed more alien cultures, been at the heart and soul of the battle for allies and the quest for resources, not sitting in an office in Washington writing spreadsheets and combating recalcitrant political committees.

Keeping the command of the Atlantis base in civilian hands was the goal of the IOA and the US government – but keeping command of Atlantis in Richard's own hands, that was another matter entirely. He brought his hands together behind his back, gently slapping one wrist into the other palm. Cool, professional, very much in command – that was how he would have to play this. Consign the scholar to Doctor McKay's custody, as it were; two scientists together in some remote lab, heads bent over their somewhat esoteric work. Keep his own interaction with the man to a minimum.

Yes. O'Neill couldn't fault him for giving Daniel Jackson exactly what he'd asked for – space to pursue his studies with minimal interference and no demands on his time or talents, no chance of joining an off-world team, no diplomatic duties. And absolutely no chance to show the staff of the Atlantis base just how much more qualified than Richard Woolsey he was.

oOo

"… Let's just say that sending Rodney off to Siberia wasn't just a daydream anymore." Daniel smiled down into his coffee cup at the memory. Was he ever as young as Rodney seemed all those years ago, all brash arrogance defying Sam, the military, everyone? He was probably much worse, he decided, especially at the beginning, before Sha're's capture, before he'd witnessed the consequences of his arrogance, the penalties for his overconfidence.

Caldwell chuckled, grin widening, twirling Daniel's captured bishop in his hand. "Wow. I'm not sure if I'm impressed by your solution or mortified that you thought McKay interacting with the Russians was a good diplomatic move."

Daniel shook his head, dispelling his darker thoughts. "Yeah, well, that wasn't actually my decision. Miles above my pay-grade, I'm afraid," he added, staring, unfocused, at the blank wall of the officer's lounge.

The colonel frowned. "But, you got Teal'c back. Got the Russians to cooperate and give up their DHD."

Nodding, Daniel remembered Paul Davis' red-faced anger at his particular brand of cut-throat diplomacy and the stern reprimand for his 'cavalier' promises he'd had to face from the government when he returned. It hadn't mattered, that time. Hadn't hurt him in the least to be second-guessed, suspected, reminded that he had absolutely no standing in the chain of command. They'd sent him to Russia and Teal'c was alive. "Jack got the information we needed from the Goa'uld that the Trust was holding, but it was Sam who actually pulled it off. As usual." She had been a miracle worker.

Caldwell's awkward movement caught Daniel's eye and he watched the officer scrub one hand across the back of his neck, his forehead deeply creased, his gaze … elsewhere. Memory surged and Daniel sat forward quickly, concerned.

"Steven - I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"No – it's fine."

The smile was feint, a thin attempt at appeasement that Daniel recognized easily. He rose to his feet, shifting his weight, uncertain whether to approach the veteran soldier with his sympathy or to leave him alone with his thoughts. Their late-night talks, at first uncomfortable fumblings for connection, for a frame of reference that could act as a foundation for friendship, had grown into camaraderie over the past week, but they'd never touched on this; never approached the deeper pains, the profound scars on each of their souls. Sha're. Jack. Ascension. Merlin. Adria. He glanced at the colonel's pale face. The Goa'uld.

"Daniel, please."

Caldwell's weary plea stopped him mid-movement. Arms crossed across his chest, Daniel paused, waiting, unwilling to make this moment about him. Ready to do whatever Steven needed to smother those tortured thoughts. The colonel's hand waved in the air in obvious invitation to resume his seat across the chessboard. He clenched his teeth and sat.

Long moments of silence widened between them, deep and unbreakable, filled with haunting memories of violations, of glowing eyes, and thoughts controlled by ageless evil. Daniel had suffered it only in dreams, nightmares, and Ancient-fueled might-have-beens; had stood outside and watched friends, lovers – so many, far too many – struggle against Goa'uld invasion. He offered the colonel the warmth of his silence; unspoken understanding.

When he finally spoke, the Air Force officer's words were clipped, impersonal, distancing himself. "A lot of the memories are fuzzy. Like something I can only see through a pouring rain."

Daniel didn't let the clichéd words of empathy slip out.

"Sometimes I wish I could have invaded the Goa'uld's thoughts and memories as easily as it did mine – might have gotten some technology, some intel from the thing."

"Don't wish that," Daniel stated firmly, the taste of his betrayal of friends and country, of his arrogant display in the face of Jack's desperately pointed gun during Shifu's 'lesson' making his voice low and rasping. He tightened his lips, intent. "Its knowledge could only poison you. It is true what they say about absolute power."

"Sounds like you know what you're talking about."

He knew Caldwell was confused – he could read it on his face. Daniel sat forward, laying one finger on the point of his king's crown. "No. I've never been a host. I can't – I won't try to compare our particular … experiences … Steven. It's a pointless game, scoring misery. Nobody wins." He tipped the chess piece to its side.

Caldwell watched Daniel's grim face, tracked his movements, the obvious gesture of surrender. He was right. This civilian, this man who hadn't even seen forty, was right. Personal losses piled up, tortured memories threatened to pull them under. Association with the Stargate program guaranteed some of the strangest, wildest, most devastating experiences he could imagine – and many he couldn't. Sheppard nearly turned into a bug. McKay had superpowers. Beckett was a clone. And he'd been host to a Goa'uld.

But he was alive. Unlike so many others, Caldwell was alive. And so was Daniel.

oOo

Jack O'Neill gazed out into the darkness beyond the aircraft's wing, the files strewn across the bench beside him forgotten, weariness diffusing his thoughts into the thin atmosphere that surrounded him just outside of the jet's thin skin. The familiar static charge across his skin of an open Stargate; the clean but musty scent of SG-1's gear-up room; laughter strafing his backyard during a team barbecue; the feeling of home, of welcome, of fitting perfectly beside a solid alien warrior, a kick-ass blonde scientist, and his best friend – Jack's own warm, blue-eyed conscience.

How could a cold desk in Washington ever compare to that?

By the time he'd arrived in the Springs, Landry wouldn't be surprised to see him. But he might be damned put out to find that Jack was beginning an in depth inspection of Stargate Command – a decidedly hands-on, long-range, all-encompassing 'dig' that would keep him in Colorado for a very long time.

Because Daniel had left for Atlantis with harsh words and hard feelings between them. Because Daniel had been unhappy for far too long. Because Daniel was far away from his team – either one; far from home, far from help. And, because if there was one thing Jack O'Neill knew, letting Daniel Jackson roam around a remote galaxy with his mind distracted with anger and hurt was a huge, freaking accident waiting to happen.

And, when it did, Jack O'Neill would be only one step through the Stargate away.


	3. Chapter 3

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Three

"_We must not interfere. It is the first law – the only law. Without it we are no better than they …"_

_It was cold – so cold. Eternity was covered over with ice that no human touch could penetrate. Even when the blazing glow of the Others surrounded him, bathed him in the weight of their presence, radiant tendrils burrowing deep into his being to reveal everything he thought – everything he was – still, he was so cold. Empty. Alone._

"_Is this Ascension? Is this what we've longed for, what we've yearned for? Is this the pinnacle of existence, this shallow insistence on detachment? This claim of remote superiority?" Daniel spewed his disappointment, his revulsion, to the ends of the Universe, loosing pieces of himself to the ether. "Human tyrants have been doing this for centuries – holding the power of life and death over those they deem 'inferior' or 'lesser,' too apathetic to interfere." Despair crushed his life force into a huddled mass. "Is this all you are – all we are? My god – death would have been better."_

"_Daniel, you do not understand."_

_Oma's human face hovered, serene, undaunted, as he'd first seen her on Kheb. Waves of compassion warmed him, suffused him with the utter certainty of her protecting hand, her ethereal fingers brushing his cheek. "Oma," he pleaded, "they're dying. So many … I can't … I can't control the fire, but you …"_

_Brows thickened, eyes widened, white robes falling into place around the form of Ganos Lal within the bleak Ori prison._

_And still Daniel struggled against the tide of their inhuman control as he watched the Ori ships come, the Priors slaughtering hundreds of thousands, enslaving millions. The Doci's power burned his resistance to ashes within him, tearing away every molecule of his existence. "Please. Help us."_

_She'd paid – they'd both paid. Light and darkness fighting two eternal battles. Daniel's translucent fingers traced the Ancient letters on the Ark, spelled out 'truth' in a script made up of blocks and cubes that so fit the Builders. He'd loosed the light upon the enemy and listened, helpless, as the Doci begged for mercy; he who had opened the Doorway to Heaven had released the hellish beam that had stolen the Ori's followers. Stolen their power. Cast them out into the utter darkness._

_The Others surrounded him now, insubstantial forms filled with disdain crowding him, radiating judgment. "You have broken the first law. You have used our own works, buried for millennia, as weapons. You will be cast out, cast down." And then the noise of their hands, clapping, louder and louder, leaving bruises on his soul - their brilliant forms fading to uniforms of blue and green, suits and ties, smiling lips mouthing words that caught at him like rusted hooks. "Congratulations. You've done a great job, Doctor Jackson. Well done, son. You sure showed them."_

_He tried to get away, to find a way out from the circle of their slapping hands, the deafening thunder of their laughter, smiles too wide, too feral. "We're gathered here to pay tribute to a man who has, with the help of his team, almost singlehandedly destroyed our enemies. Slaughtered them. Reduced them to nothing. Who embodied the complete downfall of their civilization and devastation of their culture."_

"_No … no! That's not – I didn't -"_

"_You did it, Danny boy." Jack embraced him, the stars on his shoulders sharpened to points that cut into Daniel's skin, his callused hands crushing him in a grotesque parody of that hug at the base of the ramp that had once warmed his soul. "You killed them all, Space Monkey!"_

"No!"

The scream tore from his throat and echoed, throbbing, from the metal walls of his quarters aboard the Daedalus. He tasted sweat and blood, salt and copper. His heart pounded against his chest, shuddered down his bones, his breathing strangled gasps that felt like sobs. Daniel sat on his thin bunk, undershirt soaked, legs tangled in his sheets, his back pressed so hard against the bulkhead that he knew the rivet patterns would be indented into his flesh.

The same dream. It was the same dream, the same faces, the same wounds. The same dream that had chased him from the Mountain, chased him from the Earth, and pursued him into another galaxy. The same nightmare images that pushed him from his bunk night after night to haunt the corridors of the ship. But even here, even within the nothingness of hyperspace, between the stars, beyond their galaxy, Daniel couldn't escape.

His teeth chattered as the sweat dried in the over-cold air conditioning and he drew in his knees, arms holding them hard against his chest, and dropped his head. But the gesture was futile; the memories were behind his eyes, dug in deep, impossible to avoid with darkness or distraction.

From his first step through the Stargate Daniel's had been a hand of destruction. How many had died in Nagada? How many children aboard Ra's ship? Sha're. Kawalsky. And they were just the first in a long, long list. Every drop of blood, every empty chair, every silenced voice laid to rest at Daniel's feet. He'd opened it. He'd fought to keep it open time and time again. He'd stammered out his idealistic rhetoric, lined up his arguments, and flattened their warnings and cautions with his confident, optimistic, conscience-searing speeches, while men and women died and civilizations collapsed to ruin.

And now they wanted to pin a medal to his chest and call him a hero.

The letter from the Joint Chiefs lay pristine, barely touched, within the same inner pocket of his jacket where he'd tucked it the day it had arrived. Daniel had only to read the words once to see them in crisp black and white before his mind's eye, to feel their brutal weight, to be reminded of how very far he'd come from the idealistic dreamer who'd believed that the universe would be a better place because of his enthusiastic – and egotistical – contributions.

He'd watched Sam advance in rank. Was proud to stand beside her and Jack and Mitchell when they earned some of their ribbons; when Mitchell stood pale faced and rigid as he accepted the Air Medal from the President's hands; when Jack had won his stars with just a ghost of a smirk behind his eyes. He did not begrudge his friends their awards. No, Daniel had crawled through the sand and mud right beside them, had watched their sacrifices and losses pile up, and had witnessed the fierce loyalty and courage that was the foundation of their every action.

They were the faces of the American military that tightened his throat and made him stand that much taller when he was at their sides. Sam and Mitchell. General Hammond. Landry and Walter and Siler. Janet Frasier. Dixon and Ferretti and Grogan and even Griff. Not the second-guessing uniforms in Washington, not those who kept close enough to the Stargate program to bask in the rare but brilliant victories and yet far enough away to avoid the fallout from the more frequent failures. Not the people who'd never stood beneath the agonizing glow of a hand device, or tried to reason their way out of an alien – completely, utterly _alien_ – cultural dilemma, or watched men and women and children die of ignorance and violence and hopelessness and knew there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop it.

Daniel's bare feet slapped against the cold decking as he strode towards the small bathroom, his anger streaming behind him like a cloak. The cold water slapped him in the face, splintered the walls of his resistance and broke through his stubborn, blind defiance. Bowed over the tiny sink, fingers gripped tightly in his hair as the drops fell, one by one, to chime flatly against the dull metal, the pain bled away the last of his self-righteousness.

He looked up to meet shadowed blue eyes reflecting the truth from the surface of the dark, dimpled mirror. He couldn't blame the suited and uniformed figures that stood behind the congratulatory words. Daniel gritted his teeth, jaw clenching so hard he thought it might crack. No. In all honesty, looking at it in the cool light of day not the shifting gloom of his bitter self-reproach, he knew they were grateful; really, truly grateful for his work. For the destruction of a powerful race that threatened to murder worlds and force millions into servitude. He couldn't blame them for being blind to the personal losses, never seeing the true and complete devastation that the Ark brought, never looking into the grief-blinded eyes of the Ori's abandoned followers.

Nor could Daniel pretend to hate the 'faceless military machine' while confronted with the faces of his friends and teammates, the men and women aboard this ship, above the blue and green uniforms.

Daniel stumbled back towards his bed, but, at the last minute, turned towards the locker at its foot. He didn't need light to lay his hands on the coat, to find the inside pocket, to define the shape of the two thin envelopes there. He'd meant to take out the letter from the Joint Chiefs, to craft some sort of diplomatic reply, to apologize for his sudden inability to appear at their ceremony citing 'not in the galaxy' as his excuse, but it was the smaller envelope that he found in his hands – still sealed, the name scrawled on its face with enough force that he could feel each stroke and line beneath his skilled fingers.

He fell into the single chair at his desk, elbows propped on the arms, and held it lightly, carefully, as if it was a precious scroll from a long vanished civilization; the only proof left of a culture, a community, a man. Memories, philosophies, beliefs: beyond the relics of flesh and bone, words were the leavings of breath and love, of silences and sorrows, of relationships and family, caught up in time. Forever.

The written word could never be called back, erased, deleted. Daniel should know.

~o~

Sheppard sat slouched in his chair, fingers drawing meaningless patterns on the conference room table as he watched the others file in, puddle together in eddies of twos and threes, and then flow away again to regroup with others. Woolsey, as usual, kept to himself, carefully straightening the files that sat before him until every edge was aligned, every stylus or pen parallel, his lips tightened to a matching straight line in his pale face. The man's discomfort was still impossible to miss; his quick, measuring glances and obvious disdain for Sheppard's more casual style making John want to slump just that much more. He fought the impulse, shifting his weight back in his chair, catching Ronon's eye and jerking his chin towards the Satedan's usual seat, grateful when the big man merely smiled wryly and complied with the silent request. Rodney was still muttering and fidgeting his way around the table, arms full of readouts, notes, his sacred laptop, a napkin-wrapped roll, and a mug of coffee. Teyla must have noticed John's posture and began herding him towards his usual seat between them at John's left. He couldn't help the half-smile that tugged at his lips at the scene, replacing Rodney's six-foot figure with that of a recalcitrant toddler. It looked like Teyla would have lots of practice before Torren took his first steps.

Keller eased past Ronon, leaning over to whisper something out of the corner of her mouth as she made her way to the seat on Woolsey's right. Whatever it was had the muscled warrior leaning back, hands behind his head in an obvious display, eyes half-hooded with satisfaction as he gazed directly across the room at Rodney. Great. More 'Days of our Lives' playing out in the Pegasus galaxy. If the young medic didn't stop leading his two teammates around by the dick, Sheppard would have to step in – and _nobody_ was going to like it. He brushed one hand through his hair and sighed, picking up a pen to make a quick note on the pad before him: "Radio O'Neill re: getting Clone Beckett back ASAP."

"Sorry, sorry." Zelenka's rushed entry drew all eyes to his slight, scurrying figure, wispy hair floating around his head. He stared at the curved table and froze, his head turning back and forth seemingly unable to decide which side would be appropriate. He straightened his glasses and mumbled to himself, finally shrugging and taking the empty seat at Teyla's side. Sheppard couldn't help smiling as the scientist lowered himself gingerly into the chair as if his added weight on one side of the table might make the universe tilt out of alignment.

"What's he doing here? Why didn't you tell me – I mean, I could be working or he could be working, there's no need for half the Science Team to be tied up in these endless meetings unless it's science related." Rodney's voice was rising, his words shooting out faster and faster as he shifted his accusing stare between Zelenka and Woolsey. And Sheppard could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was just getting started. "_Is_ it science related? I haven't heard about anything – shouldn't I have heard if there's a problem? I mean, I would have liked to have had some time to prepare-"

"Calm down, McKay," Sheppard soothed. "I'm sure if you take a breath and give Mister Woolsey a minute he'll tell you everything you need to know."

Rodney puffed out a breath. "Oh, 'need to know,' is it? You would not believe the number of times I've heard that phrase coming from military lips since I first signed on with this project. I thought you finally realized that I need to know everything?" Rodney was getting up steam now, his words clipped and sarcastic, hands gesturing. "How can I be expected to do my job and anticipate how everything could go wrong if I'm kept in the dark?"

"Doctor McKay." Woolsey interrupted the flow of Rodney's tirade, turning it into spurts of almost audible mutterings with a focused glare. "I'm sure that's not what Colonel Sheppard meant to imply."

"Yeah, hold your pants on, McKay. It's a 'briefing,' Sheppard stated slowly. "I thought someone as bright as you would have caught on by now that these things are used to _tell_ us stuff."

"Oh, ha-ha. Yes," Rodney smirked, rolling his eyes. "Well then, what is it?" he demanded, sitting up straight in his chair, hands folded on the table as if he was a teacher awaiting a particularly annoying pupil.

Sheppard lowered his head to hide his smile. Poor Woolsey. He was pretty sure that this wasn't how he'd like his carefully planned briefing to begin. Probably had a nice little speech prepared or something. He glanced up through his lashes at the administrator and noticed the flush just creeping up beyond his collar and the jerky movements of his hands towards his precise notes.

After a moment, Woolsey's mouth crooked up on one side and he sighed. "Very well. Since you ask, Doctor McKay, yes, the news I've received from both the SGC on Earth and the Daedalus does have to do with the Science Department. In fact," he twisted his neck as if trying to stretch out tight muscles, "I'd like you to free up your schedule in anticipation of the ship's arrival in approximately eight days."

"_Why_?" Rodney drew the question out, clearly underwhelmed by the idea. "And for how long?"

Woolsey spoke up before McKay could get up any momentum. "The length of time required is undetermined, however," he added quickly at Rodney's wide eyed, open mouthed shock, "however, that is precisely why I've asked Doctor Zelenka to join us, so that you could discuss the allocation of resources."

"Okay," Sheppard held up one hand towards his clearly irate teammate and turned towards Woolsey. "I'll bite. What's going on?"

Woolsey clamped his lips together again and dropped his eyes for a moment. His jaw worked as if he'd rather chew up and swallow the next words rather than let them out into the air. "General O'Neill has approved a specific research project, and Doctor Daniel Jackson is travelling on the Daedalus in order to oversee it here on Atlantis."

"Well, that's just great…"

"Who?"

"Was he not once Ascended among the Ancients himself?"

Voices clattered against each other and Sheppard narrowed his eyes, focus turning inward. Something stirred in his gut, a feeling that usually warned him of a storm on the horizon. It felt like more though, this time – restlessness, maybe, or anticipation, but of what he had no idea. He was too good a soldier to ignore it, but he knew he couldn't force it, either. He drew in a deep breath and resolved to run the security teams through their drills, to double-check the internal sensors. His gaze wandered outward, scanning the room, allowing the words and gestures to seep back in, to come back to full volume as he sat silently, watching, waiting, looking for clues in the reactions around him. McKay was annoyed – of course – with an added touch of discomfort behind the obvious anger about adjusting his schedule. There was a history there, something from before John's own time with the Stargate project. Ronon sat, unaffected, radiating bored disinterest, which wasn't surprising. It's not like he'd read any of SG-1's mission reports or felt much of any connection to Earth and Jackson's exploits and contributions there. It made sense that Jackson's connection with the Ancients would fascinate Teyla. She'd have questions for the guy; lots of questions. He saw them all piling up behind eyes that glittered with excitement.

It was Woolsey's reaction that fascinated him. The controlled, restrained, tightly wound bureaucrat was uncomfortable, plucking at his files awkwardly. No, it was more than that, Sheppard realized, sitting back, eyebrows climbing: the man was afraid.

He crossed his arms over his chest. Huh. This should be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Four

Jack settled back against the flat, lifeless pillows atop the standard, too soft mattress of the VIP room – his usual suite, he huffed to himself as he let his gaze roam the concrete walls and the Air Force's humorous attempts at "artwork." It sure wasn't the swanky Jefferson Hotel of the DC movers and shakers, no rolled pillows or minibar or shower big enough for a half-dozen of his closest friends. Heck, it wasn't even the Colorado Springs Days Inn. But, Jack thought as his tense muscles relaxed and his senses took in the warm, familiar scents and smells, it sure felt like home.

Well, sorta.

There was the silence; that was new. And the absence of a friendly blue gaze across a chessboard, a blonde spouting techno-babble, or the teasing eyebrow of a reformed Jaffa turned diplomat. Nope, just that awkward meeting at the top of the mountain with a certain Colonel who stood a little too straight and spoke with a little too much conscious enthusiasm at Jack's presence. And who barely managed to hide the wariness and self-reproach behind his affable soldier's mask. Jack crossed his ankles and smirked up at the ceiling, one arm behind his head – he sure hadn't helped put Mitchell at ease, had he?

"General Landry sends his regards, sir, and asks me to tell you he's cleared his schedule tomorrow beginning at 0730 so you can go over your, ah, itinerary." Mitchell had stared straight ahead at the slowly shifting lights on the elevator panel as the car slipped further and further from the cool Colorado moonlight.

"Too busy tonight to meet with the guy who's gonna be signing the inspection report, huh?" Jack had replied, rocking up and down on his toes. "I see how it is."

"No, sir – I mean –"

Jack had interrupted quickly. "In the middle of an off-world disaster, are we?" He'd wriggled his fingers in the air. "Tiny alien multi-legged critters running rampant in the 'gate room? Infirmary full of Marines seeing squishy purple hippos who speak in haiku after tasting the local delicacies? Trying to keep the 'interfering brass hat' from seeing that we're twenty minutes away from complete planetary destruction?" he hissed out dramatically, arms flailing.

Mitchell had blinked wide, disbelieving eyes at him, mouth hanging open.

Jack had sighed. "Well, I guess it's true. You can't go home again."

After muttering Landry's apologies – again – the current leader of the suddenly numerically significant SG-1 had ushered Jack towards his quarters. Carter, off playing with the Asgard core, Teal'c making speeches to former Jaffa with Vala in tow – and how weird was that? – and Daniel … _away_ … left Mitchell as a commander in command of not a whole hell of a lot, actually. And now he was reduced to playing private secretary cum obstructionist for Hank Landry. He'd shifted his eyes to take in the lines around the man's eyes and mouth and the way he couldn't quite hide the raw emotions crowding the air between them. Interesting.

Well, Jack had to admit, it was zero one thirty, and Hank was probably either home in bed or tying up as many loose ends as he could before Jack, in his new guise as DC meddler, dragged out the white glove and the sharpened pencils. If Hank was sleeping, he both envied and condemned him. In Jack's current mood, the commander of the SGC had just better watch himself or he'd find his ass handed to him by one surly, sleep-deprived general who was aching to get the bottom of Daniel's flight.

It was Mitchell's uncomfortable hesitance at the VIP room door that had startled Jack out of his dark thoughts.

"Sir, I'd just like to say … that is …"

"Spit it out, Mitchell," Jack had snapped, anger that he hadn't realized was simmering just beneath his outer skin of normalcy suddenly ripping out through his pores, targeting this guy – this guy who Jack had trusted with his team. _His_ team. His _friend_.

The colonel jerked his shoulders back and met Jack's ice-cold stare with a heated glare of his own. "I just wanted to say that I didn't know, sir. I didn't see how unhappy, how desperate, Jackson had become. One day he was working in his office, squinting at some squiggly writing. I come back from a three day leave and he's put in for a temporary transfer to Atlantis and is already gone off to DC."

Jack had really wanted to blame him – lay Mitchell flat with rage and guilt, hot, blistering curses and verbal cuts and jabs that he hadn't heard since he was a runny-nosed cadet standing, petrified, before his first DI.

But his damned self-honesty – a trait Jack O'Neill had not been bothered with until a certain bespectacled geek and entered his life, mind you – didn't let him.

"Yeah, well, you weren't the only one with his head up his ass, Colonel," he muttered, rubbing one hand against the hard knot of muscle at the back of his neck.

"But I am – or was, I guess – his commanding officer," Mitchell insisted, "and he was my responsibility."

"And I'm his best friend – or -" he bit down hard before he voiced the same shift in verb tense as Mitchell had. Pulling an empty smile from the back pocket of his psyche to cover the twisting pain in his gut, Jack made a shooing gesture. "Dismissed, Colonel – I'm sure I'll see you in the morning," he stated wearily, moving past Mitchell's reluctant obedience and into his underground home away from home.

Jack shifted his hips, scooting down to try to find a more comfortable position for his aching bones, sleep not showing up even at the very edge of his radar. The habits of a lifetime soldier had fallen away during his four years behind a desk; Jack could no longer drop off with a mental command, couldn't control his body's demands for food or drink, the need to take a piss, to sleep or wake up, couldn't count on the discipline that had been honed and tested throughout his career. It seemed those skills deserted you if you didn't use them, if you didn't keep up, keep focus, stay in the game. Just like friendship. If the muscle-memory of connection loosened, if a bond that had once reached bone deep, deep enough to draw two solitary souls together, was allowed to slacken … well, _it all just goes away_.

Echoes of words whispered from the wrong side of a balcony railing froze the breath in Jack's lungs, paralyzing him anew with remembered confusion as his friend stood at the edge. Daniel stood there again – only this time it wasn't an 8th floor balcony, but the edge of a distant galaxy inhabited by life-sucking monsters and endless other dangers. And this time, Daniel's despair, his wordless fears and pains, hadn't been caused by some weird Goa'uld pleasure palace addiction.

No, this time it was real. And he was too far away for Jack to reach out and pull him back to safety.

oOo

"I thought you needed tea leaves for that."

Daniel felt the smile curl up the corners of his mouth as he stared into the empty coffee cup he'd been treating like a crystal ball for the past ten minutes. No answers had been forthcoming, as usual.

He glanced up as Stephen lowered himself achingly slowly into the seat across the small metal table. "Yeah, well, it can't hurt to try," Daniel offered with a shrug. He jerked his chin towards the officer's pale face. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," the colonel sighed, large knuckled hands rubbing over his face. The weary eyes appeared again, staring balefully. "Sometimes I even miss Hermiod – even though he was a humorless little grey pain in my ass."

Daniel nodded, the band around his heart tightening at the memory of the brilliant flash of light that was all that had become of the Asgard homeworld. Death on a planetary scale, the utter destruction of an entire species, was almost too much to comprehend, another casual casualty of the Ori. It was the individual losses that brought pain. None of them had resisted the call to the grave, the call home: Thor, Hermiod, Freyr, Heimdall, even Loki – the entire race agreeing it was better to go out in a self-immolating ball of fire than give the Ori access to their technology, or to dwindle into shadowy ghosts of themselves through endless cloning.

"The Asgard technology is still so far beyond us," Caldwell continued smoothly, either unaware of Daniel's uncomfortable thoughts or offering him a neutral topic to lead him away from bad memories.

"It's true," Daniel agreed quickly, "Sam and Bill Lee are still working on the Odyssey's core – something that apparently worked well enough during our fifty-year time bubble, but now answers most queries with a sort of a squeaky buzz and an Asgard voice repeating, 'That command is not …'"

"'… is not supported at this time,'" Caldwell finished the sentence in perfect cadence, drawing another smile from both men. "Yeah, that just makes me want to put my foot through … something," the colonel continued. He closed his eyes and shook his head, rolling his shoulders once, twice, and then very deliberately letting go a long, slow breath that seemed to take quite a few worries – and years – along with it. A couple of crewmen shoving in chairs and gathering up the detritus of their night-shift lunch earned only a quick glance and a preoccupied nod as they left the small officer's lounge to the two unlikely wee-hours confidants.

"Hey," Stephen's gaze swept back towards him hurriedly, "'fifty-year time bubble?'"

Daniel laughed and wondered when dropping things like that into the conversation had become so casual. "I'd tell you about it, but-"

"But what, you'd have to kill me? 'Cause I'm pretty sure my clearance is all up to date there, buddy."

"No," Daniel smirked, "I was going to say, I'd tell you all about it but Teal'c's the only one who retained his memories of it, and his stubborn Jaffa lips are sealed."

"Ah," Stephen raised one eyebrow. "He's a pretty tough nut to crack, is he?"

"The toughest," Daniel replied softly, thoughts of his solid, faithful friend warming his chilled, aching spirit. What would Teal'c think of Daniel's sudden journey? Of his abandonment of Mitchell and SG-1? Of his last meeting with Jack? He deliberately placed the empty coffee cup on the table, refusing to look again for inspiration within its cold dregs. "It aged him, though, and I don't mean purely physically." He leaned forward over his linked fingers, placing images of his teammate side by side within his memory. "It shifted his perspective. He's still a warrior to the core, but now he fights with words as frequently as he would have with weapons." And I missed the transition, Daniel realized, the years that sanded down Teal'c's rough, prickly edges, the days and months and years of living in their metal-shelled prison that had been wiped out in an eyeblink for the rest of them had taken a strong Jaffa warrior and made him into an even stronger diplomat and patriarch of his newly freed people.

Stephen sat quietly for a moment, at the edge of Daniel's vision, his fretfulness seeming to drain away to motionless calm. "Sounds more like you rubbed off on him. Years of working with Daniel Jackson, the man who could see both sides of every conflict, surely opened some eyes, including Teal'c's."

Daniel's shrugged the comment away, gaze wandering, mind carefully blank. It wouldn't pay to dwell on his contributions to the SGC, his influence. Not when all he could remember was how it had all ended, had soured respect, strained friendships, and left him to turn an exhausted face towards a new galaxy. Not out of hope – no, not this time. This time, out of need and fear and despair.

It was Stephen's warm hand on his wrist that drew his puzzled frown.

"Seriously. Whatever you're beating yourself up about, whoever you're running from, Daniel, you have to know that you changed the SGC for the better."

The older man's eyes seemed to catch and hold Daniel there, beneath Stephen's insistent gentleness. He wanted to argue, to throw the colonel's assertions back at him with well-practiced cynicism, to ask him for specific details and mission file numbers to back up his optimistic claims, but the words couldn't make it past his tightened lips.

"Listen to this old soldier. I've been around the block more than a few times." His callused fingers gripped tight and then released, his hand falling to lay flat on the table beside Daniel's white-knuckled fists. "I've followed orders that chewed me up inside, witnessed the acts that sickened me of men I called brothers, and watched officers turn a blind eye. But, in this command, I've seen something different grow. Different attitudes; different expectations. And, I'll admit," he leaned back and grimaced, "I wasn't always comfortable with that. But," one finger returned to stab at the table, "I've seen mercy and kindness, self-sacrifice on a scale that humbles me, and decisions made not just because of self-interest, but for the good of alien people who couldn't possibly repay us." He shook his head. "While one man may not have been responsible for all of that, I think he showed us the way. _You _showed us the way."

Daniel's gaze searched the man opposite him as his mind conjured up another voice, a silver head and scarred eyebrow above different eyes that shone with the same earnest resolve. A man who had written words he would never say after flaying Daniel's nerves raw with his sarcasm at their last meeting. Jack's letter – so quickly penned that the few scrawled lines spread out across the entire page; Daniel had hidden it away not because he hated the words he'd read there, but because he so desperately longed to believe them.

"Maybe we got it wrong sometimes," Stephen continued, never lowering his eyes. "Maybe we screwed it up, hurt people, chose badly or selfishly." He shrugged. "But, I'm proud of us, Daniel. And I think, if you're honest, you'll admit that you're proud of us, too."


	5. Chapter 5

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Five

John Sheppard looked up from the fork tracks he was making through his mashed potatoes - they looked sorta like potatoes, if you didn't notice the pink tint and the slight smell of sardines, and, of course, the fact that they were the consistency of thickened Elmer's glue – when Ronon banged his tray onto the table across from him.

"If you're thinking that we could use them to permanently stick McKay's face to his computer," the warrior murmured around a huge mouthful of pseudo chicken, "I already tried that."

Teyla slid gracefully into the seat beside John and he found himself straightening in some kind of automatic etiquette response that no amount of off world missions or bad-ass displays of fighting skill on the petite woman's part would ever likely erase from his genetic make-up. He quirked an apologetic grin at her and gave up on his attempt at sculpture, crossing his arms on the thin edge of the table between his tray and his chest. He glanced around the half-full commissary.

"Speaking of McKay …"

"I have not seen Rodney since Mister Woolsey's latest briefing," Teyla reported, frowning, shadows darkening around the edges of her usually serene expression.

And wasn't that just a special time had by all, John asked himself. Just a few days ago they get some fairly good news – at least he considered Jackson's visit good news, no matter how much McKay grumbled and Woolsey grimaced – and now the other shoe drops. Todd. Another overture of possible … well, not exactly friendship, the best description John could think of would be 'lack of the immediate desire to rip the life-force out of each other.' And didn't that always end well. He glanced back at Teyla, trying to erase the image of his teammate as Wraith Queen that threatened to superimpose itself over her. Yeah, Todd's sudden interest in Keller's gene therapy would most likely turn out to be completely above board. He shook his head. That feeling of dread that had started out as a niggling little voice in his head had grown to a growling tiger that lived deep in John's gut and seemed to enjoy chewing on his intestines.

Ronon shook his head. "I don't like it."

Yeah, John sort of figured that, too. Making nice with the Wraith never seemed to be on Ronon's to-do list.

"Doctor Keller believes this treatment could eliminate the Wraith threat in this galaxy – surely that goal is worth pursuing," Teyla suggested, her tone even and her eyes carefully lowered to her food. Sheppard found himself grateful – again – for Teyla's innate ability to soothe egos and aggression so easily.

"I don't trust them."

"No kidding," John mocked.

Ronon snorted, not amused at all. "Woolsey thinks this drug is gonna make him a hero – set him up as savior of the Pegasus Galaxy." He jammed another overloaded forkful into his mouth. "He's keeping us out of it so he can get all the glory."

Teyla sighed. "He so desperately needs approval."

"Glory." Ronon continued, shaking his hair back. "There's not any glory when you deal with the Wraith – only kill or be killed." He slammed his fork down on the tray with a loud clang. "You can't trust a Wraith – and you both know it."

John felt the weight of his glare and felt the tiger grind his bowels between his teeth. Ronon was right – Todd always had another agenda. For the most 'trustworthy' Wraith they'd ever met, the guy was not very trustworthy. John should know. "Well," he began, "whatever his reasons, Woolsey's determined to do this with just Keller and the Marines. And, frankly, I'm not sure leaving the two of you behind is such a bad idea," John noted absently as he went back to scanning the commissary for their fourth. Where the hell was Rodney – it wasn't like him to miss a meal for any reason.

It wasn't the heated stare of the Satedan across from him that drew his attention back to the discussion. He blinked in the face of Teyla's quiet indignation that didn't quite cover her hurt. "Hey, you think he's going to take you along on his 'make nice' mission with the Wraith? Come on," John glanced back and forth between them, adding a whine to his tone, "that's so not gonna happen." Whether they wanted to admit it or not, both Teyla and Ronon had too much history with the Wraith to ignore – and every future meeting between them and Todd would always be laced with the rage and betrayal of every meeting in their past.

Teyla narrowed her eyes, making sure John knew she did not accept his explanation while grudgingly acknowledging his honesty with a nod.

Ronon wasn't quite so subtle, looming closer, unconsciously – or maybe purposefully, John admitted – shoving the table hard into John's chest. "I'm going," he snarled.

"Good," John snapped, refusing to shift his chair backward to give himself enough room to draw a deep breath. He leaned in, meeting Ronon glare for glare. "I'd actually feel better if you did tag along. Under the radar. No need to announce your intentions to the entire base," he hissed softly.

The dark eyes narrowed in suspicion for just a moment before the warrior's face settled into a wary, guarded expression, muscles still rigid, unmoving. "Okay then."

"Okay then," Sheppard parried, matching his teammate tone for tone, willing himself to immobility until Ronon finally relaxed, leaned back, and returned to his determined attack on his dinner.

"I'll admit that I am torn," Teyla dropped into the tense silence, easily drawing their attention away from each other. "I would very much like to meet and speak with Doctor Jackson, but I hesitate to remain behind in safety while others put themselves at risk."

He shook his head, angling his chair back from the table so that he could cross one ankle over his knee. "Yeah, but I'm thinking it's the exact opposite with Woolsey," John murmured.

"John?" Teyla frowned.

Sheppard paused, re-examining all the little tells and clues that had formed themselves into an unshakeable conviction about their new commander. The way his jaw tightened when he mentioned Jackson's name, the careful control he'd fixed around his reactions whenever he was asked a question about the visiting scientist, the almost sneer he barely managed to contain when he spoke about the communications he'd received from both General O'Neill and General Landry – communications that he'd made a point not to share with anyone. Yeah, Woolsey was jumping into this mission with the Wraith with both feet.

McKay's noisy entrance distracted him for a moment, and he glanced back at Teyla. "I think Woolsey's more afraid of Daniel Jackson than he is the Wraith," he mentioned absently.

"Just convinces me even more that the guy's an idiot," Ronon growled.

"Who's an idiot?" Rodney demanded, placing his heavily laden tray across from Teyla's and falling into a chair at Ronon's side with a sigh. "Never mind," he waved away John's reply with both hands, "I'll figure it out."

Teyla leaned forward. "We were speaking of what John believes is Mister Woolsey's reluctance to spend any time with Doctor Jackson when he arrives."

"Well, well," Rodney smirked, digging into the mashed not-potatoes, "it seems, contrary to popular opinion, 'John' isn't as clueless as he seems."

"Whose popular opinion?" John demanded coldly.

"Never mind," Rodney replied airily. He chewed silently for a moment, seeming to relish the annoyed attention of his teammates as he applied himself to his lunch.

"C'mon, McKay," Ronon finally prompted.

"What makes you think I have anything to … oh, all right," he conceded ungraciously, shoveling more food into his mouth. He pointed his fork at Sheppard. "Having spent more than a few weeks working at the SGC, I'd say that Jackson and Woolsey? Not exactly a match made in heaven."

"You worked with Doctor Jackson?" Teyla asked eagerly.

"Well, more with Colonel Carter, and, of course, not since he's been back from," he waved both hands in the air, wiggling his fingers, "you know, but there are stories." His smug smile seemed forced.

John leaned forward. "Share, McKay."

"Before I beat it out of you," Ronon added.

"Geez, okay," Rodney flashed a glare at the bristling warrior beside him, "did you forget your medication today?" Clearly relishing his position at the center of attention, he raised his voice. "So, you all know that Woolsey started off in league with Robert Kinsey, right?" he stated quickly, "trying to bring down O'Neill and Hammond and get his own people in control of the SGC? That did not make him too popular, as you can probably guess. But, eventually, he turned on Kinsey and got the guy kicked out of office."

John hunched over the table and glared at his outspoken teammate. "Keep your voice down, McKay," he hissed, "no reason to broadcast this." He leaned back and glanced around at the interested expressions turned their way.

Ronon didn't seem to care. "You're saying Kinsey was a bad guy?"

McKay responded with a shrug, his eyes suddenly hooded and downcast. "Yeah, well, it definitely felt that way at first."

Teyla reached out one hand across the table, dropping it before it touched Rodney's tray, her brow furrowed at her teammate's sudden change in attitude.

Sighing, Rodney moderated his tone to an almost whisper and raised his eyes to meet John's. "You remember Janet Frasier?"

Drawing a deep breath, John's thoughts were sent back to his very thorough medical examination before they let him through the Stargate to Pegasus. She was small, but tough. A practical exterior that seemed to hide a wealth of concern and wisdom in a tiny package. She and Jackson had been joking back and forth about the scientist's general health – John remembered how confused he'd been at their conversation until he realized Jackson was practically vibrating with excitement at the chance to go with the team to Pegasus. But in the end, he'd stayed behind, and John and the others had been out of touch for a long, long time, ignorant of the risks to Earth that the SGC had met and fought through while they were in Atlantis, carving out their own existence. Frasier's death had been mentioned not quite casually in a communiqué almost a year after it had happened – General O'Neill's voice going thin and hoarse for a split second as he uttered her name.

Rodney had worked at the SGC, had made, well, not exactly friends, but close associations, John figured. The people there were more than glimpses in a crowded corridor, brief mentions in reports, or paragraphs in Stargate history. John waited patiently through McKay's hesitation.

"Doctor Janet Frasier – Chief Medical Officer of Stargate Command for nearly seven years." McKay's hands played with his fork, the dishes on his tray, before he looked up. "Saved the day more times than you could count. She was killed on a rescue mission trying to save an airman's life. Hit by a Goa'uld staff weapon – died on the spot. Right in front of Daniel." He shook his head.

"And where does Mister Woolsey come in?" Teyla asked gently.

A dark half-smile flashed across his face. "He was sent by Kinsey to 'investigate.' Accused Hammond of incompetence, Teal'c and Carter of disloyalty, and Daniel – implied it was through his actions – or inactions – that Frasier was dead and that his wife and brother-in-law were taken as hosts by the Goa'uld."

"Holy …" John swallowed bile along with his words. He'd never heard about this. Woolsey's file – his confidential file that John had found one day piggybacked onto a personal message from O'Neill before the bureaucrat took over the station – had detailed Woolsey's involvement with Kinsey, but not the personal attacks.

Teyla drew back as if McKay's words could crawl across the table and wriggle beneath her skin.

"Surprised Teal'c didn't just tear his head off and spit down his neck," Ronon grumbled, not bothering to look up. "Told you Woolsey was an idiot."

"He defended Elizabeth among his own people who had ordered her recall, did he not? This same man who accused SG-1 of these things?" Teyla demanded quietly.

Rodney resumed shoveling food into his mouth. "I did mention that he turned on Kinsey, right? Changed his mind about being the guy's puppet. Of course, that was before the whole 'Khalek' thing, and then ordering Daniel's execution last year."

The lengthening silence around the table eventually drew McKay's attention. "It's complicated," he whined, clearly reluctant to go into further detail.

John puffed out a breath. The file had gone into a lot of detail about those two … incidents. His gut churned. "Woolsey countermanded Doctor Jackson's advice to eliminate a hybrid Goa'uld named Khalek that they'd discovered. The guy ended up cutting a swath through the SGC and killing two airmen before Jackson and Colonel Mitchell put him down." He rubbed a hand across his face. "Last year, after SG-1's visit here, Jackson was captured by the Ori and turned into a Prior. Once he was caught – or let himself be caught, I guess – Woolsey wanted him executed."

"Yes, well, Daniel managed to convince him otherwise," Rodney chortled. "Tossed Woolsey around like a ragdoll before he managed to send an Ancient weapon through the Supergate to destroy the Ori."

"I do not understand." Teyla radiated tension, her fists clenched on the tabletop. "That Mister Woolsey, this man who has become a friend of Atlantis, has acted in such an erratic manner towards our counterparts at the SGC – it is bewildering." She turned to stare at John. "No one man can both hate and respect this program and its people at the same time. Do we truly know who he is, or what is his motivation in coming here?"

"O'Neill sent him for a reason," John cautioned, trying to keep his voice even. "He wouldn't have sent him if he thought he was dangerous."

"Or, maybe he thought sending him millions of miles away from Earth was a pretty good start," Ronon suggested sharply. "People die on Atlantis all the time."

John found himself unable to disagree. What the hell was going on? Woolsey had put himself in the center of the Wraith situation, ordering John and his team away from the action. There was clearly no love lost between him and Daniel Jackson – one of the lynchpins of the entire Stargate program and O'Neill's best friend. His fingers drummed nervously on his leg, eyes narrowing unconsciously as he determined that a communication burst to be forwarded to General O'Neill at the Pentagon might just be his best bet for getting some answers before the situation blew up in his face.

"John –" Teyla began.

"Yeah, I know. We need to keep our eyes open," he agreed. "McKay – you've been in touch with Jackson recently?"

Rodney shook his head. "A couple of months ago, just after they found the device that finally took care of the Ori."

"And he did not tell you of his plans to come to Atlantis?" Teyla asked.

"Nope." He scrunched up his nose. "It's not like we have these deep heart to hearts, you know. He's just … less annoying than some of the other so called scientists back there."

"Almost as smart as you, huh, McKay?" Ronon growled.

"As if," Rodney rolled his eyes. "Soft science," he huffed, "it might as well be arts and crafts."

John's stomach roiled as his team attempted to recapture an attitude of light bantering. The words sounded too forced, the laughter false, significant glances filled with wary assessment. He couldn't find his footing, here, in his home, with his closest friends around him. He knew this feeling.

He wondered if fear looked any different looming behind his eyes than it did plastered all over Richard Woolsey's pale face.


	6. Chapter 6

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

**A/N: Apologies to all those who are faithfully waiting. Life changes and sometimes knocks you down. Am focused, now, on climbing back up.**

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Six

"Come!"

Daniel was bent, searching under the low bunk for a single, fleeing pen when the door to his quarters slid open. Capturing the item, he sat back on his haunches and raised victorious eyes to Caldwell's dry amusement. "What? The military keeps telling me these things don't grow on trees, although, they might in the Pegasus galaxy." He quirked an eyebrow at the other man. "If they do, it's no wonder I've always been drawn here."

Caldwell chuckled. "No, can't say I've ever found the planet of renewable pens. I'll keep you informed, though."

"You do that," Daniel smiled, closing his carryall on his journals, his notes, his laptop, and a certain still-unopened letter, and rose to his feet. His other gear – his books and research materials, clothes and shaving kit and other nonessentials had already been transferred to Atlantis. Slinging the long strap over his shoulder, Daniel glanced around at the grey walls, the impersonal furnishings; the cramped space that he had hoped would become both hiding place and monastic cell on his journey. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men still had little basis in reality, at least in his experience. Aboard this vessel traveling like an arrow away from pursuing nightmares and anger and resentment, Daniel had found a momentary balm for his soul. He shook his head. Surrounded by military uniforms, steel, and the cold of space – who would have expected _that_ to feel like home?

Well, he should have. Seemed like Daniel Jackson would always choose stiff-necked Air Force colonels as his confidantes.

"Steven." He turned to the man propped up in his doorway and held out one hand. "I want to thank you."

The colonel grinned. "For the serious crimp in our coffee allotment or for letting you beat me at chess night after night?" His callused hand was warm, the grip firm, clearly acknowledging a connection that had been forged between them.

Daniel nodded. "For the ride. And the friendship." He hiked the strap further up on his shoulder and crossed his arms. "It's been an … unexpectedly good trip."

"Good."

Eyes agreed on what neither man would admit. Daniel had gotten pretty good at translating such things since he'd begun working with tight-lipped tough guys. Heaven forbid one of them actually said words about friendship or caring – he imagined there would be some type of siren, red flashing lights, and an immediate loss of rank, not to mention personal mojo. His petty resentments always conjured up the same tired, silver-haired image of a man at his bedside who he'd counted his best friend – more - mumbling awkwardly about admiration. He drew in a slow lungful of air and clashed mental gears; he thought he'd let go of that years ago.

He'd battened down the hatches of his anger during this past three weeks – had unearthed some hard truths and had re-buried other, more damaging, more shrapnel-infested landmines. Steven's companionship had let that happen.

"I hope to further your chess education on Atlantis," Daniel began. "You've got some downtime coming, right?"

"Yeah, about that."

Daniel searched Caldwell's face, adding up the deepened lines around his eyes, the thinness of his lips, and the guarded slant of his shoulders. He waited, eyes narrowed. Good news rarely came accompanied by that statement.

"Looks like we're heading back out almost immediately."

Anxiety scratched a deep furrow up Daniel's spine. "What's happened? Is there anything I can do-"

Caldwell cut him off with one hand. "No – it's nothing like that."

Daniel had barely allowed himself a deep breath when the colonel continued.

"The Wraith have agreed to begin testing and implementing Doctor Keller's vaccine."

Okay, that was … huge. Daniel's mind chewed through his backlog of information about the Wraith and what little he knew about Keller's research into a possible 'cure.' He'd shared more than a few conversations with Carson Beckett – that he was a clone barely registered – and heard the fear and bone-deep regret in the doctor's tone when he spoke of Michael. Daniel had relived some of the Atlantis teams' worst encounters with Carson, with Rodney, and during briefings with Jack and Landry way back when. Way back when he'd shoved himself into every meeting, every discussion – hell, every ten second mention of Atlantis just to remind them about where he really belonged.

And he'd found that Landry had far less patience than even the famously impatient Jack O'Neill. "No and stop asking," the general had spat out, finally, no trace of humor or respect on his usually bland features. "If you want to leave, resign, take your marbles and go home, I'm not going to stop you, but you will not be going to Atlantis."

It hadn't stopped him from reading. Studying mission logs. Keeping up with Rodney – with Sam during her posting. That keen eagerness to stand within the Ancients' city and feel it come to life overtook him again and he shifted his shoulders in irritation. It should not have taken the threat of a Presidential visit to cut the thin, rotted strings that held him down to Earth.

"We're off-loading our supplies right now – it'll take a couple of hours – and then we'll pick up some crew changes and head out."

Daniel's gaze snapped to Caldwell's. "To where?"

The colonel shrugged. "Pretty much the middle of nowhere, spatially, but near enough to a Space 'Gate. Neutral territory."

"Is there such a thing when we're talking about hyperspace windows? I mean, couldn't the Wraith surround you in seconds once you're arrived?" Planets with 'gates, one door in, one door out, that's the kind of fighting that Daniel was accustomed to. Space battles and enemy ships that could appear and disappear almost at will was still too much sci fi for him. "I mean, it's not as if we've got an armada of ships waiting in the wings to hold them off."

Caldwell took a step back into the corridor and motioned Daniel to walk beside him. "I'm told that 'trust has to start somewhere.' Although my capacity to trust this guy is almost nil based on some of the crap he's pulled."

Daniel kept moving on autopilot. "Todd? You're going out to meet with Todd?" If the Wraith were the Pegasus galaxy's counterpart to the Goa'uld, then Todd was their answer for Ba'al – sometimes helpful, sometimes bloody-teeth-in-your-throat enemy, always treacherous and eager for his own gain above all.

"We are," the colonel admitted with a determined nod.

Puffing out a breath, Daniel tried to wrestle his mindset from relaxed scholar to soldier/explorer, and his attitude from frustrated to resigned. Of course his mission could wait, Janus' lab had waited all this time – Daniel had waited all this time – and this possibility of some kind of future for Atlantis and everyone else in the galaxy beyond the Wraith threat was vastly more important. And if that too-often-thwarted scientist within him, the man who'd hoped to have hung up his weapons and taken up his pens and journals again sulked and squirmed that was just too damn bad.

"I'll gladly stay aboard if you can find a use for me, Steven. I might not know the Wraith, but I've brokered deals with our enemies before." Knowing McKay, Daniel would be banned from touching a single Ancient datapad while he and his team were away on this mission. Even if he could immediately start the gene therapy without Keller, he'd rather not be beamed down to cool his heels in Atlantis while everyone else sped off on the Daedalus. Especially if that meant he'd be marking time in the company of Richard Woolsey.

"Actually," Caldwell kept his eyes trained on the gleaming metal walkway, "I have orders to beam you down to the 'gate room. Woolsey and Keller and the medical team will beam up here within the hour."

Daniel frowned. "And Sheppard? McKay?"

Caldwell snorted and shook his head. "Nope. Just Woolsey and the med staff."

Eyebrows climbing, Daniel grabbed Caldwell's elbow and pulled him to a stop. "What?" His voice was tight, demanding, stare piercing through the colonel's military control to see the sharp, alert soldier lurking beneath – a soldier who was none too pleased by his orders. "Who the hell's idea was this?"

Caldwell blinked and Daniel tasted acid in the back of his throat.

"Woolsey. This has Woolsey written all over it," Daniel seethed. He raised one hand and thrust it into the air between them. "He's a fool and worse, Steven. He totes up men and women like numbers on a spreadsheet and makes decisions based on, God, I have no idea what he bases them on. He'll rush to secure power – for the government, for himself - and get people killed; he's done it before."

"Daniel…"

A cold, cruel anger stabbed through him. "I'm telling you, Steven, you can't trust the man's best intentions." Woolsey had hurried to make friends with Khalek, had all but ordered Daniel killed. "You don't have to believe me," he managed to say, the familiar resentment building up in his gut, "but you need to make your own plans, your own contingency plans, for when those intentions drop you and your people hip-deep in shit."

He forced eye contact for another long moment before dropping it and striding down the corridor towards the control room. Long legs ate up the distance, fury and bitterness urging him faster, farther, towards escape. Maybe another galaxy wasn't quite far enough to outrun this … this … hopelessness. This disconnection.

"Hey!"

A strong hand on his shoulder spun him around, blinking, jolted hard from communing with his inner demons.

Caldwell let go almost immediately, hands raised as if in surrender, as if Daniel might strike out. "I'm listening, Daniel," he urged calmly. "I'm not brushing this off; I take what you're telling me very seriously and I'll make sure to discuss contingencies with my men." He straightened, watchful.

"Right." Sure he would. They all just put so very much stock in what Daniel told them.

The colonel's hand fell heavily on his shoulder again – not to capture or to control, it felt different this time. His half-smile was warm and disarming. "Maybe it's time for you to start believing, Daniel."

Eyes wide open, Daniel wrapped his skepticism up within him, layered it in experience and hard-won wisdom, and smoothed his features into pleasant nothingness. "Whatever you say."

An awkward silence cluttered his last few moments aboard the Daedalus, and when he appeared in the Atlantis 'gate room Daniel was smiling, his diplomat's persona firmly locked down over his roaring emptiness. The colors and sounds of the Ancient city swept over him and left him cold.

"Doctor Jackson, welcome to Atlantis."

"Thank you, Mister Woolsey, it's great to be back." His own mistrust was hidden better than Woolsey's obvious discomfort, but then, Daniel had played this game so many, many times before. "Colonel Sheppard. Rodney." The gang's all here.

Sheppard stepped forward first, throwing an assessing glance back towards Woolsey's stiff figure as he reached out to grasp Daniel's hand. "Don't wanna worry you, but there's been quite a buzz around the city about your visit. Hope the paparazzi don't scare you off."

Daniel didn't have much experience with John Sheppard – but, listening to Mitchell's stories he thought he'd gotten a grasp of the man's dry wit and unorthodox approach to command. Another Air Force colonel. He sighed inwardly. What the heck.

"Maybe I should have brought Teal'c – he'd make a great bodyguard," he allowed a bit of real warmth to thaw his echoing smile.

"Oh, no," Rodney muttered, "_he_ practically had his own fan club before he left the last time." The scientist edged forward, sharp gaze taking in every aspect of Daniel's appearance, lighting briefly, brows raised, on his civilian clothes, the purpling shadows beneath his eyes, and the tightness of his muscles. "You look – hmmm." His statement drifted off into silence.

"Gee, thanks, Rod. You're looking pretty 'hmmm' yourself."

"'Rod?'" Sheppard turned, laughter behind his eyes.

"Oh, shut up," McKay grumbled.

The obvious friendship between the two felt damningly familiar. And cut deeply into Daniel's resolve to present only the most professional, pleasant mask while he made a place for himself within Atlantis' close-knit society. Watching these two interact with a depth of concern and acceptance that Daniel had won – and then, somehow lost – would feel like salt in his wounds. He rolled his neck and smiled – and smiled.

"Seriously," Sheppard added, turning back, outwardly relaxed and casual, but with a decidedly precise gaze that seemed to reach for a toehold under Daniel's measured façade. He spread his hands with a gesture that encompassed the city, the world, even the galaxy, "it's good to have you. Hope you can stay for a while this time."

_Oh, I intend to_, Daniel promised himself, glancing past the colonel to Woolsey's rigid posture and his tight, resentful expression. _I intend to_.


	7. Chapter 7

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Seven

Daniel Jackson was wired tighter than a thin-stringed Stradivarius – and Sheppard knew 'wired' when he saw it: he worked with McKay after all. John could practically see the air around the man vibrating with the tension his placid, earnest expression denied. He had to admit it; Daniel had a great game face. He smiled and chatted, teased McKay, and stood loose-limbed and relaxed before the combined scrutiny of all gawkers. And if his blue eyes occasionally held a sharp flash of fury when they glanced in Woolsey's direction, well, only John was likely to notice. Especially since he was looking for it.

Something dark was driving him, something that O'Neill's cryptic message had only hinted at. John had picked up the regret beneath the general's words of warning; words that sounded cynical and amused on the surface, but were tainted with a dash of guilt and, strangely, something else that John never thought he'd see on the veteran's face: a twisted sorrow at what might have been. 'Take care of him,' the message had ended, as if Daniel was an expensive piece of equipment, but O'Neill's tone had added everything the hard-assed career military man was unwilling to say out there where people could actually hear it.

John began steering the group along the corridor towards the infirmary, smirking to himself at the inherent sheepdog quality he'd damn near perfected working with a half-military, half-civilian command. Half the time, McKay didn't even realize he was being led as Sheppard maneuvered himself to the rear – Woolsey and 'Rod' flanking Daniel on either side. But based on the raised eyebrows and shrewd glare tossed his way by the visiting scientist, Daniel wasn't as easily distracted.

"Are we late for a meeting?" There was a definite edge there, a sharp, clean edge like a naked blade.

Sheppard stretched his neck in what he knew looked like discomfort. "Ah, no. Just want to get the usual formalities out of the way before Keller takes off." Yeah, just a military grunt here, Doc, you know the type, he projected, willing the man to fall for it.

Daniel didn't miss a trick. "So, I get to enjoy down home Atlantis hospitality in the form of some poking and prodding, huh?"

John watched Woolsey adjust his glasses, keeping his eyes fixed on the corridor in front of the odd little herd. "Standard operating-"

"-procedures, yes, believe it or not I'm somewhat familiar with the concept."

Sheppard dropped his chin so that his grin at Daniel's snide comeback wasn't quite as obvious. McKay, of course, had no such qualms.

"You know," Rodney's voice was loaded with sarcasm, "it's funny how many people who've kinda latched onto the Stargate program years after its inception seem to think they have so much to explain to those of us who've been there and done that, don't you think?"

"'Those of us'?" Daniel echoed in McKay's direction.

"Well, granted," Rodney quickly allowed, "everyone's a veritable greenhorn compared with you, except for O'Neill, I guess, but I am the second most veteran member of this little bunch, by a long shot. And, compared to Sheppard …"

"Okay now, no fair starting an 'old-timers' remember when' clique. Neither of you have enough grey hairs for that, _Rod_." Sheppard wondered if his teammate caught the way their visitor's muscles clenched at the sound of the general's name.

"Too true," McKay replied loftily. "Oh, and, don't call me that ever again," he added under his breath.

"Doctor Jackson, I didn't mean to imply …" Sheppard could almost see Woolsey squirming through the back of his uniform.

"It's fine," Daniel finally snapped. "I'd like to discuss something with Doctor Keller before she leaves, anyway."

McKay's chin lifted. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"Oh, I think you can figure that out, Rod."

Sheppard glanced up just in time to see Woolsey's step falter and then watched wordlessly as the train of 'hail fellow – well met' screeched and smoked and rattled off the rails. Woolsey stopped at the transporter doors, one hand raised, face set in grim foreboding. John shifted to the side, less out of a sense of self-preservation and more so that he wouldn't miss an opportunity to help – or to secure his own front-row seat. Judging by Daniel's fiercely determined expression, their visitor would just as happily have walked right over the Atlantis administrator, grinding in his heels with every step. But, as John stood wondering how a confrontation between these two could have taken even this long to develop, he saw the scientist pull his cloak of amiable reserve around himself and stand, outwardly relaxed, inquisitive, blandly curious. Holy crap, no wonder Doctor Jackson was known as the best diplomat in any galaxy.

"Wait," Woolsey began, "I hope you're not thinking what I think you are, Doctor Jackson."

"And just what would you know about how I think, Mister Woolsey?"

Ouch.

John watched McKay unconsciously position himself close to Daniel's side, shoulders brushing, and knew his teammate didn't have to use one iota of his brainpower to pick sides here.

Woolsey looked down for an instant, trying to settle himself, but he was no Daniel Jackson, that was for sure, and his face bore more than a trace of anger and resentment – and fear – when he raised his eyes again. "I am guessing, of course," his tone was half self-righteousness and half apology – and all ice, "that you are interested in the ATA gene therapy?"

"You are? Of course you are," McKay nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "Well, that's a good idea; you could pursue whatever useless research you wanted and I wouldn't have to follow you around to turn things on by my very presence." He stopped abruptly and pointed a finger towards nothing. "And that did not come out the way I'd intended it to sound."

Daniel turned slowly, a genuine, unfeigned light of humor breaking over his face and John could have kissed McKay right on the mouth to see it.

"Well, yes, although I'd miss your enlightening and … exciting … presence, Rod, that was just what I was thinking."

"No."

Too bad Woolsey couldn't get with the program, Sheppard sighed to himself.

"'No?'"

Woolsey shot a glare in Rodney's direction. "No, Doctor McKay. Doctor Jackson is here on a short-term mission with one particular goal, and, as he is not going to become a full-time member of the Atlantis expedition, he does not need the Ancient gene. Nor should he risk being exposed to the possible negative side effects," he added, very much after the fact.

"While I appreciate your concern, Mister Woolsey, that's my choice, isn't it?" The genial mask was back, although it was staring to thin and fray around the edges.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Jackson." Woolsey turned away briefly and activated the transporter doors. "This is not up for discussion. Now, if you and Doctor McKay-"

"I think you'll find you're wrong about that, Mister Woolsey." And still Daniel smiled. In that instant John realized that, diplomat or not, the guy was about to live up to every single thing he'd read about him. Stubborn. Brilliant. Falling just short of arrogant when he absolutely knew what he was talking about. And ruthless with those who stood in his way or just really ticked him off.

"Maybe you haven't heard, but, I've worked my way around military – and political – battlefields for many, many years now," the scientist continued, "and allowing myself to be steamrolled by personal short-sightedness or administrative expediency is not on my agenda. An agenda approved by the commanding officers of Homeworld Security and the SGC, I might add. They want my mission to succeed, and, oddly enough, they are willing to take my word for what tools and resources I'll need to make that happen." His words came out fast and hard, enunciated so clearly that the edges could have sliced through skin. He brushed past a gaping Woolsey and into the transporter chamber. "Check your orders. Make your calls." He shrugged. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I apparently have an appointment with a needle." He gestured towards the pad next to him. "Rodney, you coming?"

McKay coughed a nearly silent laugh before he hopped in and pressed the appropriate destination on the screen. John sighed. His teammate was busy reveling in the game, the always there competition between scientists and – well, everybody else. But one look at Daniel's too tight grin and narrowed blue eyes and Woolsey's flushed and angry face had John biting down against that roiling sickness in his gut again. Before the doors closed, John caught Rodney's eye and nodded, jerking his chin once towards Daniel in an order that neither scientist could miss.

Beside him, Woolsey's teeth were grinding, mouth snarling, and his hands were fisted at his sides as if, someday, he might actually get up the courage to hit someone. Maybe the IOA was right and he was a great administrator, a cool head, and organizational genius, but a veteran diplomat he wasn't. Even John knew that you never wanted to show your whole hand to the other side in the early stages of a negotiation, and with one heated statement about how Jackson 'was not going to become a full-time member of the Atlantis expedition,' he'd given his game away.

Round one had definitely gone to Daniel Jackson, and Woolsey knew it.

"Colonel Sheppard-"

John held out one hand and cocked his head. "Look. I know what you're gonna say." He turned to face the other man, lowering his voice. "But I'm asking you to take moment and think about this. He just got here. For all we know, he wants to bury himself in his research with McKay and just wants the ATA gene to expedite things."

"'For all we know,'" Woolsey muttered darkly. "You don't have the experience with Doctor Jackson that I do, Colonel. And giving someone with his … history access to Atlantis' control systems is like putting a loaded gun into the hands of a –"

"A what? A civilian, like yourself?" John scoffed gently. "He's got more arms experience than _I_ do." He shook his head. "Or is it a man who disagrees with you about just about everything?"

Woolsey seemed to steady down, getting his teeth into the argument. "A man who has a greater knowledge of the Ancients than anyone else and reads the language as if born to it. Who we both know has some sort of agenda for coming here beyond what we've been told. A man who has threatened …" he scanned the empty hallway around them and closed his mouth on the words.

"Who, what? Who has threatened you, openly opposed you to follow his own plans for defeating the Ori?" John thrust his point home. "Who physically attacked you? Well, from what I hear, you went there first."

Woolsey's lips thinned to nothing. "As commander of this facility, allocating the ATA gene therapy to appropriate personnel is my decision to make."

"Yes," Sheppard hissed. "But, I'm telling you that you might want to pick your battles, Mister Woolsey." He slapped the transporter controls and stepped into the cramped alcove. "For now, I'll keep an eye on them. You might want to study up on your negotiation skills before you head off to confront Todd and his hive."

The doors slid shut soundlessly between them and John rolled his eyes at the heat of his own anger. "Well, that went well," he muttered as the transport beam gathered him up.


	8. Chapter 8

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Eight

Daniel leaned back against the infirmary bed, arms crossed, and allowed the irritation and anger of his initial meeting with Woolsey to drop away. He'd said all he'd planned to say to the politician, at least for now. The instant antagonism that had slammed through him at his first glance at Woolsey's face had surprised him; it had rocked him for a moment. And the bureaucrat's insistence that Daniel's presence wasn't worth the time or resources of the Atlantis personnel had been a stinging slap in the face. But it had woken him up, allowed him to focus and grab hold of his control. If Woolsey had been afraid of Prior Daniel, then he was going to find out that human Daniel Jackson with an agenda was much more formidable an opponent than pasty white skin and blanched eyes could make him.

Any decisions about the ATA gene, about Daniel's 'position' here on Atlantis, should be torn from Woolsey's grasping fingers. Much as he might hate it, this situation should be hammered out between Daniel and the callused, large-knuckled hands of one thick-headed Major General within the thick-walled Pentagon. He nodded to himself. No matter what had happened between them, no matter the resentment Daniel couldn't quite put away, or the emotional and physical distance Jack had heaved open between them to cut Daniel out of his life, it came down to the two of them. Everything Daniel did, every decision he made, every jog in the path of his life could somehow be traced back to Jack O'Neill. Even a galaxy away. The thin envelope in his jacket pocket crinkled as he shifted uneasily at the thought; it was a constant reminder, like a nudge in the ribs, that Daniel was not alone.

The Stargate. Wherever he went, with an SG-1 patch on his shoulder or in civilian clothes; aboard the Daedalus or the Odyssey; walking beneath alien suns or on the streets of Colorado Springs, the Stargate was like a tether connecting them. Sometimes a lifeline, others, a weighted leg-iron dragging him beneath the surface. An open wormhole that sucked energy straight from Daniel's heart. And here he stood, silently watching this scene play out around him within the city of the Ancients, about to embark on a new volume of his life thinking about Jack O'Neill.

He shrugged to himself and tried to tune back in as the young doctor continued to prattle on about percentage adaptation and weighing side effects and random genetic mutation with McKay as if Daniel wasn't even there. The words washed over him and he picked out terms here and there and tied together her argument before tuning out the meaningless repetition to concentrate all of his attention on his unlikely friend. Rodney, usually brusque and superior, crushing others' obviously unimportant words with his own arguments, was … attentive. Quiet. Sweaty palms, agitation, flushed features, and a particular gormless look on his face that Daniel had only ever seen when he was in the same room with Sam Carter. McKay was in love. With Keller. Who was probably fifteen years younger than he. Holy … Hannah.

Daniel blinked rapidly and shook his head, urging himself not to make snap judgments. Even if he really thought that Rodney had much more sexual tension going with the dark and broody colonel who stood at the end of the infirmary bed watching the interaction with a deceptively bland expression than he ever would with this pale, fluffy, albeit brilliant, young, _young_ woman. Sheppard glanced sideways towards Daniel, his eyebrows rising, mouth quirking as if to say, 'you ain't seen nothin' yet.' Daniel stifled a bark of laughter.

"So, are you gonna do it or not?" Sheppard sighed heavily as if he was as tired as Daniel of meaningless explanations and useless discussion.

Keller turned in Sheppard's direction, obviously annoyed by his blunt interruption. "Well, there's no reason to believe that Doctor Jackson will have any adverse reactions to the therapy, at least not in the SGC medical records that I've been given access to." She typed a few commands on computer screen that sat on a stand next to her and then, finally, addressed him directly. "Of course, taking into account the experiences that you've been subjected to over the years – physical death, Ascension, descension or whatever you call it, and, most recently, the invasion of an Ancient's personality and the transformation into a Prior," she shook her head, "I have no way to quantify any of that or to tell how these changes might affect any treatment I might give you, let alone something like the ATA gene therapy."

Daniel smiled thinly. "The medical personnel at Cheyenne always treated me like a human being, just like any other." He paused, trying to reach the woman through her bluster. "Since that is what I am."

"I didn't mean to imply that you're not human, Doctor Jackson-"

"Really?" Sheppard interrupted again. "'Cause it kinda sounded that way from over here."

Interesting. Daniel hadn't expected Sheppard's support. He hadn't expected much at all from the military commander of Atlantis.

The doctor brushed one hand across her forehead, retreating for a moment behind closed eyes. "I'm sorry," she admitted after a moment with a smile. "With this Wraith meeting hanging over my head, I'm a little distracted." She moved a step closer. "Doctor Jackson, I just don't know how the gene therapy will affect you. And I'd feel much more comfortable waiting until I could monitor your progress personally before beginning the treatment."

"But you really have no reason to believe that it will affect me any differently than it has anyone else. Whether it's effective or not is another matter entirely, I realize you can't make any promises about that."

She tightened her lips and Daniel could almost see her mentally thrusting aside any and all arguments at odds with her decision. "That's true, but in my medical opinion …"

Daniel widened his eyes and stood up straight. "- which you can back with actual test results and confirmed evidence of rejection factors or other negative indicators?"

Anger skimmed across her face and she cocked her head to one side. "As Chief Medical Officer of this facility," she began again.

Daniel didn't let the familiar self-important tone dissuade him. Doctors, generals, politicians- the completely arbitrary, often irrational, and utterly illogical sense of absolute and unquestioned authority seemed universal to each and every one. And Daniel was thoroughly finished allowing himself to be governed by any of them. "As CMO, you don't have a medical leg to stand on, Doctor Keller."

"Daniel –"

He held up one hand to stop Rodney's nervous interjection, his focus precise and fixed on the young doctor's face. "With Woolsey in charge here, and since it's not as if I can go get a second opinion to force this issue, I'm powerless, I know that," Daniel snapped. "But don't believe that this is the end of this discussion, Doctor Keller. You can force me to go over your head – over Woolsey's head – hell, over every head at the SGC and the Pentagon, if you insist - but your decision here won't be hidden under the rug by lofty 'in my medical opinion' insistence. And I hope for your sake that you can justify it beyond some kind of nebulous, all-encompassing 'I'm in charge here, my word is law' schtick. Been there," Daniel ground out between his teeth, "been there, done that, have more scars from winning those battles than I'd wish on anyone."

In the stark silence that bloomed around him, Daniel turned his back and shouldered his bag, surprised to find that Sheppard already had hold of the other one and was standing beside him, blocking his way. The colonel stared a message into Daniel's eyes, one that spoke of patience and support, and that asked trust, at least for the moment. Daniel sighed and halted his planned rush for the door. Sheppard nodded in some form of thanks and turned back to the red-faced, stammering doctor.

"Look, Doc, Mister Woolsey's already running for the phone, so to speak, so why don't we table this discussion for now and maybe you could talk to your staff just in case the gene therapy is approved while you're off on your mission."

It sounded like it should be a question, but Daniel heard the tone of command undergirding the man's words. Keller's lips tightened, but she finally nodded and turned away, obviously anxious for the confrontation to be over.

"Hey," Rodney stepped forward, his eyes darting from face to face before settling on Daniel's. "They could talk to Carson – he's on Earth, right? At Area 51? If anybody's an expert on this thing, it's him."

If looks could kill, Daniel figured that Rodney McKay would be a pile of melted flesh and ego, but, luckily, the scientist didn't notice the young doctor's death glare aimed his way. Daniel barely managed to keep his lips from twitching into a smile at the thought that Rodney would not be getting any tonight. "I've already talked to Carson, Rodney, and he's gone over my medical file with Doctor Lam." He shrugged, trying to give off a nonchalance that he didn't feel. "Neither of them saw a problem."

"Well, there you go then." Rodney gestured with both hands, his smile large and relieved at his obviously brilliant solution to this problem. Keller's furious glare knocked him back a step. "What? That's good, isn't it?"

Beside him, Sheppard sighed and reached for Rodney's elbow, pressing him towards the door. "We'll be in touch, Doc," he threw over his shoulder, jerking his chin for Daniel to follow.

Daniel hesitated, glad for the rescue, but still smarting from the less than cordial welcome from two of Atlantis' administrative staff. But his brief urge to apologize, to smooth the young woman's ruffled feathers with ingrained diplomacy and tact dropped into a familiar well of frustration. Keller had her rigid back to him, and was concentrating firmly on shoving equipment into a pack. Fine. Daniel had been 'dismissed' by so many people that had meant so much more to him that this stranger's angry silence was meaningless by comparison.

Walking towards the door, he caught up with Sheppard and an open-mouthed McKay and firmly, resolutely, put the encounter behind him. He wasn't looking for friends on Atlantis – he hadn't expected to find allies or arms open to receive him. Alone, Daniel would make his way, carve it out around the cold shoulders and rejection, just as he always did. He'd done it at his foster homes, at college, at the SGC. This would not be the first time by any means – but, maybe, it would be the last.

Sheppard let them get a few paces down the hallway before he looked over at Daniel with a noticeable glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Well, I'll say this for you, Daniel; you sure know how to shake up the place." He looked pointedly at his watch. "And you've been here less than an hour."

McKay chuffed a strained laugh on the other side. "Yes, I'd almost forgotten that about you. Guess I blocked it out."

Daniel felt a coil of warmth unfurl along his nerves. Maybe not quite alone after all.

oOo

"General."

"General."

The commander of the SGC huffed out a frustrated breath and snatched at the ear protection the duty airman held out, shoving the orange buds into his ears so roughly Jack wondered if he was trying to press them straight through his head. Jack turned, eyes half-lidded, to watch as the newest SG team was guided through its paces by Colonel Mitchell. Hands deep in his pockets, standing rigidly against the back wall, Jack was all but oozing controlled menace and he knew it. And he could tell that the recruits were practically twitching with anxiety under his scrutiny which, no doubt, had prompted this little visit from Landry.

Targets were deployed, orders were given, and the rattle of firearms exploded the length of the range. Three Air Force, two civilians. P90s barked. Brass tinkled against the concrete floor. Mitchell called a halt and the dead silence was nearly more painful than the noise.

The targets made their way back along the motorized lines to the shooters and Mitchell walked the length of the room, offering quiet encouragement or loud criticism, whichever was needed. Jack was surprised to find that one of the civilians received the longest, angriest tirade from the leader of SG-1, the short haired woman standing, chin raised, eyes blazing, in the face of his invective.

"Reload!" the colonel snapped, nodding for the master of arms to send new targets back down the range. After another two rounds, he finally dismissed the team with a nod and a wide smile. "Better, Ramirez," he grunted at the woman as she made her way past him. Jack had to control a smile at her flustered blush in response. There was a story there.

Landry moved forward, gathering Mitchell up with a glance as he handed back his ear protection. Slowly, Jack followed suit, eyebrows quirked in curiosity, wondering if Landry was tired of his interference already.

"Well, Jack," Landry began, his smile false beneath hooded eyes, "seems like your boy's already making waves in Atlantis. Not that I'm even slightly surprised."

Jack seethed at the all too familiar taunting mockery. "First of all, General," he responded, slowly and clearly, "I think Doctor Jackson should have earned just a little bit of respect from this command. So much so, in fact," he returned a smile with far more teeth, "that if I ever hear someone refer to him as anyone's 'boy' again, I'll be suggesting that person receive a formal reprimand and a transfer out. No matter what it says on his uniform."

Landry received the message loud and clear, but Jack could still see a hint of steely resistance in his posture. "Jack," he drawled, "cut the bluster. You know I respect Doctor Jackson. Don't try to take out your own frustrations on this old dog – I've still got some bite left in me."

Mitchell cleared his throat noisily and bore the heat of two sets of high-powered glares for his attempt at peacemaking. "Sirs." He stood at rigid attention. "All due respect, but is Jackson okay?"

"Oh, he's fine, but I think Mister Woolsey might be about to have a stroke," Landry replied.

"And that would be bad because?" Jack asked evenly, trying to brush off the sense of bleakness that met every mention of Daniel's name. First he'd mouthed off to Daniel. Then Mitchell. And now Landry. No matter how much Hank deserved a kick in the ass for referring to Daniel that way, Jack knew it said more about his own attitude – his own regrets – than it did his old friend. He jerked his chin in Landry's direction. "So, what now?"

"Apparently, Doctor Jackson has requested he undergo the ATA gene therapy. Naturally, Woolsey is against it."

"Naturally?" Mitchell asked. "Makes sense to me. The man's all about the Ancients, why wouldn't he want to interface with their cool gadgets?"

Jack nodded. Yeah, it made sense. Daniel's determination to get the Ancient gene and Woolsey's response. He rubbed both hands over his face and took a moment to get his grating disappointment under control.

"General?"

"Yeah, Mitchell," he breathed. "Daniel wants the therapy. It's his first salvo, but, I've gotta admit, it's a good one."

"Just what kind of action is Jackson fighting here, Jack?" Landry gestured with both hands. "Is he doing this to further his research, or trying to make a point? Something more personal?"

Making a point – Daniel? Oh, hell yes, Jack muttered to himself. A point that was aimed right directly at Jack's heart. "Both, I think, Hank." Dammit. Dammit. If Daniel had hurt this much when Jack took off for Washington without a word, no wonder he was going for the jugular, 'cause this hurt like a bitch.

"Granted, being able to access Atlantis' tech would make his research more independent of Woolsey's – or McKay's – interference or objections …" Landry's comments trailed off, his gaze sharp on Jack's face.

"Or mine," Jack filled in the obvious blank.

Mitchell shuffled his feet. "Sir?"

Jack ignored him. "Woolsey's against it." Not really a question – it didn't have to be.

"Vehemently."

Nodding, Jack took a deep breath. "How long until he leaves for the Wraith mission?"

"About three hours."

Three hours. Jack closed his jaws against any more heated words or thoughtless outbursts. He'd need all of his scattered wits to compose his response: one for Woolsey, and a separate one for Daniel. As much as he wanted to simply cut through the bullshit and take that long step to Atlantis to look into those frosty blue eyes and give Daniel the explanations and accounting that he deserved, he needed to save that, hold that in strategic reserve for when the crap did finally hit the fan.

"I'll take care of it," he stated firmly. "Give me an hour."

Landry examined him for a moment before raising exasperated eyebrows and heading off, leaving Mitchell still dancing with discomfort at his side.

"Again I say, spit it out, Mitchell."

"Sir. Jackson's 'first salvo,' you said. He's setting this up to make a permanent transfer to Atlantis, isn't he?"

"Over my dead body," Jack ground out between clenched teeth, knowing, in all likelihood, the dead body was much more likely to be his stubborn, hurting friend's.


	9. Chapter 9

"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship, and we're headed in an AU direction from the actual eps since I don't think Sheppard is one to sit idly by.

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

**A/N: Apologies for the wait. Family emergencies plus the absence of my SG muse broke my stride with this one. Now that I've got a good idea where I'm going, I hope to update more frequently.**

Chapter Nine

Woolsey sat back in his chair, muscles aching after two of the most stressful hours he'd ever spent outside Washington. Jack O'Neill's words still seemed to ring in the silent office, his voice carefully controlled but cutting nonetheless. Cutting right through Richard's persistent insistence on keeping Daniel Jackson from gaining a foothold within the Atlantis base. Too late. He knew it as soon as the scientist appeared in a flash of energy beams in the 'Gate Room that it was already far too late.

Grimace tightening his jaw, Richard slapped both hands onto the desk and spit out a string of curses to try to dispel the echoes of O'Neill's calm statements of support for 'anything and everything that Dr. Jackson needs.' Emphasis on everything. A moment later Richard strapped his control down tightly, closing his eyes against the tumbling resentment and anger that wanted nothing more than to take him apart and put his emotions on display for everyone to see. No. That would not do. He forced a deep breath and then another, slowing his exhalations until the tips of his fingers tingled and his mind ticked back to logical thought.

He pressed the right buttons to transfer O'Neill's personal message to Daniel Jackson to a data crystal, toying momentarily with the idea of cracking the encryption and listening to what Jack O'Neill had to say to his longtime friend and teammate who had come to Atlantis with a hidden agenda that reduced Richard to such undisciplined outbursts. His fingers wove the small translucent disc in and out thoughtlessly. Gathering intel, that's what it would be. Digging for answers, answers that might help him form an effective defense against whatever attack Daniel Jackson was contemplating.

Lips twitching into a dark grin, Richard shook his head and dropped the crystal into a drawer. No. He had other priorities right now. Even if Daniel Jackson believed that his presence should throw a long shadow over the more important work of this base, Woolsey had a mission to prepare for. A mission that could be the beginning of the end of the Wraith threat. He'd deal with the man and his petty demands when he returned. He slid the drawer closed quietly but the distinctive 'snick' of the metal sounded like the slam of a blast door.

He stabbed at a control. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"Sheppard, here."

The disembodied voice was cool and professional – anything else would be open to misinterpretation. Richard lifted his chin. "Report, please, on the progress of Doctor Jackson's investigation."

"Oh, he and Rodney are having fun chasing down … wall sconces, I think. The combined brain power tends to interfere with their communication abilities, at least to dense military types like me, but I'm planning to tear them away for lunch in a few minutes with Teyla – she'll make them talk."

Richard heard the familiar tone of affectionate disdain that colored the colonel's voice when he spoke of the often irritatingly condescending head of the science division. "Interrogation in the face of the torture of overcooked vanara grain. Perhaps you should take Ronon with you," he suggested dryly.

"I think I can handle it," Sheppard returned. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."

Teeth grinding, Richard stamped down hard on an immediately sharp response. "Doctor Keller and I will be beaming up to Daedalus in fifty minutes." Priorities, he reminded himself. Priorities.

He could almost hear the nod. "I'll be there."

"Very well. Woolsey out."

Richard allowed his gaze to rest on the closed drawer. Let Jackson and McKay chase Janus' cryptic clues, let them focus on Ancient technology and bury themselves in the kind of research that fueled their brilliant minds and kept them from interacting with the world around them. In a few days, perhaps a week, Richard would be back with the mantle of victory firmly around his shoulders. And it would take much more than an archaeologist with a doting general in his back pocket to remove him from his post then.

oOo

Watching the back and forth of the determined 'push' of Colonel Sheppard and the stubborn 'pull' of Rodney McKay, Daniel felt his annoyance at being 'personally encouraged' to leave his promising search for Janus' lab for the unappealing food of the Atlantis mess drain away. He was here, in Pegasus, feet firmly planted, books strewn across Rodney's too pristine work surfaces - that's all that mattered. For the moment.

Rodney was still wearing that hangdog expression he'd adopted after watching Keller and Ronon hustle off towards their meeting with the Wraith, absent-mindedly poking at the food heaped on his tray. Daniel shook his head - Rodney McKay playing with his food might just be the herald of the apocalypse they'd all been expecting since he and Jack, Ferretti and Kowalsky, first stepped foot through the 'Doorway to Heaven.' Clearly the idea of 'heaven' meant different things to different people, and, if Rodney's glum behavior was any sort of hint, _his_ definition had a lot to do with a certain young, blond-ish, young, admittedly kinda cute, _young_ doctor.

And Daniel's own definition? He huffed silently, eyes down, imagining a completely different group of people surrounding him in another commissary in another galaxy in another time. The warmth. The understanding. The way he'd … fit. Was needed. Valued.

"Doctor Jackson, I understand that this subject might be difficult, but, I am most interested in your travels with the Ancestors."

He looked across the table into Teyla's exotic eyes and, strangely enough, was reminded of the gentle, wise eyes of his Jaffa friend. She was tiny, fragile-looking, the complete opposite of Teal'c when you took in just the surface. But he could see, without much of a glance at all, that her strength filled her small frame like molten steel, and that her wisdom and grace had been earned by generations who lived every minute scrambling for some kind of existence under the shadow of the Wraith. Was that any less a slavery than what the Jaffa survived at the hands of the Goa'uld? And, if he saw more of a parallel than was really warranted, well, maybe he missed a certain taciturn friend more than a little bit.

"My 'travels' with the Ancestors." Somehow all of the sarcasm he'd meant to saturate the words with had drained away. She didn't deserve that. "I'm sorry," he immediately began again, as if she could parse his thoughts, "it – it's not that it's difficult. It's just that it is." He laughed and shrugged his shoulders, happy to see her grin in response. "How about that for an explanation?"

"Yes, yes, very eloquent, Daniel," Rodney snapped at his side. "Now you see why the SGC puts so much faith in his diplomatic skills." The air quotes were obviously to be understood as the scientist was still busy fiddling half-heartedly with his lunch.

"I believe I understand," Teyla smiled. "Perhaps it is something … too personal … to try to discuss with another?"

Daniel screwed up his face, thinking, unwilling to retreat behind such a convenient excuse. Ultimately, it would be a lie. And hadn't he promised himself that telling it like it is was going to be his new catch-phrase?

"Not exactly." He pushed his tray towards the middle of the table so that he could rest his elbows on the edge. "There's a lot to consider. I mean, I could talk about the Ancients – the Ancestors – for days," he ignored the snort that punctuated that statement, "but, many of the things I've remembered, or put together from other evidence since my return, are pretty subjective." The disappointment that clouded her features was painful. He shifted his chair closer. "Now, if there were particular questions you wanted to ask … maybe that would be easier."

"Hmm, let's see. One, why are they so annoyingly unhelpful? And, hey, thanks so much for the Wraith – quite a gift to the human race they turned out to be. Two-"

"Rodney."

Wow. Daniel's eyebrows rose as he glanced back and forth between Teyla's 'stern mom' expression and the suddenly silent, pouting man at his side. Shut the great Rodney McKay up with one word. She was _good_.

"What everybody fails to remember when you talk about the Ancients," Daniel continued at Teyla's rather regal nod, "is that the people we call the Ancients were just that – people. They may have evolved to a level of existence that seems unbelievably advanced, or spiritual, or god_like_, but they are not gods. And, if we disregard the Ori and a few other exceptions along the way, they never intended to be considered gods. They lived and died, worked, had families, were scientists or administrators or historians, mothers and fathers. They raised families. Caught illnesses. Made treaties with other cultures, just like we do. They made mistakes – really big mistakes, sometimes – and, I guess more than anything else, tried to figure life out. Just like us."

"And had egos the size of the Ypistis Nebula," Rodney added.

"Not unlike some people at this table," Daniel shot back. He blinked and frowned. "Y-pestis?"

"Don't ask."

Daniel shook his head, trying to shift gears. "Anywho, most of the Ascended beings with whom I've interacted were, once you got past the glowing and the tendency to talk in rambling haiku, most intent on making sure they didn't make any more huge mistakes – and, in the case of some, trying to protect us from following in their more misguided footsteps." He'd treaded that same road, struggled with his own ego, his own best intentions and bull-headed meddling. He remembered his foolish words to a suffering Jack O'Neill in Ba'al's prison about life and destiny and – damn. "I know this," he closed his eyes, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper, "they're capable of unbelievable courage and loyalty and sacrifice." Oma. Merlin. Ganos Lal. Cold strands of despair and guilt reached out through his being. "And that I'm the last person who should judge them."

Eyes open, he watched as Teyla's soft gaze bored down past his well-guarded borders to the vault of regret and conscience that would be locked away deep within him for the rest of his life. There Daniel kept the faces of the dead – Skaara, Harrid and Salis, the crews of the ships incinerated by the Ori fleet, whole planets dead of the Priors' plague, and, now, all those who could not live with what they'd done as puppets of those powers. This quiet, alien woman whom he'd exchanged a handful of words with in as many minutes saw right through him.

She was calm, posture straight but completely at ease, and spoke directly to his soul. "I believe that the Ancestors make many attempts to guide us in our path, but that, ultimately, we are responsible for our own decisions." She leaned forward barely an inch. "And that we are entitled to make our own mistakes, just as they did."

Smiling, Daniel thought back to a wise little man with grass in his hair. "'The very young do not always do what they're told.'"

Teyla cocked her head. "Are we still so very young?"

Lately, Daniel had felt so very old, but, under the glinting eye of this woman, he couldn't help but laugh. "Well, clearly, some of us are still moping teenagers."

Face a picture of woe, Rodney took a moment to catch on. "Hey!"

"If you're not going to eat that, can we get back to work? Secret lab … find of the century …" Daniel prodded.

"Fine. Sure. Whatever." McKay slid his chair backward. "I want to have something more than a bunch of water-logged light sconces to show Sheppard when he gets back from his hand waving and check in with the control room."

Teyla stood with them. "I wish you luck, gentlemen. And, Doctor Jackson-"

He smiled. "Daniel. Please."

"Daniel." She gave him another one of those regal nods that reminded him of Teal'c. "I hope that we may talk again, soon."

"It would be my pleasure." Huh. He actually had meant that. Maybe Daniel Jackson could find a place here in Atlantis after all.

oOo

Sheppard jogged up the steps to the control room, trying to shrug off the suspicion that dogged him since his little send-off talk with Woolsey a few minutes ago. Something was up with that guy, something that had him wavering between skittish and smug and that got under Sheppard's skin like fire ants at a picnic. Being tied down here in Atlantis by Woolsey's insistence on the letter of the law was kind of a joke – as if Sheppard would go more than an arms' length away from the jumper bay while the Daedalus winged off to meet with Todd. Not damned likely. He'd be waiting, finger poised over the proverbial button to launch the rescue mission.

"Private transmission for you from Colonel Caldwell, sir."

"Well, that didn't take long," John muttered, meeting the technician's eyes. He tilted his head. "I'll take it in Woolsey's office."

"Ah – sir –"

"I know, I know," Sheppard put his hands up in a placating gesture, lowering his voice as if eager to not upset the children, "Mister Woolsey wouldn't like that. How about I promise not to touch anything and you override the locking mechanism, huh?"

Chuck's smirk spoke volumes about Woolsey's heavy-handed leadership style and John quirked a half-smile at the sound of the office doors sliding open at his back.

He threw himself into the desk chair and stabbed at the controls. Oops, already broke _that_ promise. "Sheppard here. What can I do for you, Colonel? Sick of your passengers already?"

"No comment." Caldwell's stern, no nonsense tone was darker than usual. "While this journey doesn't promise to be as comfortable as our trip to Pegasus, Doctor Keller and her … entourage … are settling in."

Sheppard's eyebrows rose. _Interesting_. "And Mister Woolsey?"

"Let's just say he's a bit more prickly than usual, and I intend to keep a safe distance."

Leaning back, Sheppard laced his fingers together behind his head and addressed the ceiling. "So what's with the secret messages?" Caldwell had proven to be a 'by the regs' kind of guy. A military man through and through. Dealing with civilian administrators trying to throw their weight around wouldn't endear Woolsey to the man. But, this smelled like a different kind of rat.

A wave of silence moved through the empty space between the ship and the city. "How's Doctor Jackson getting along?"

Huh. "Oh, he and McKay are hard at it, but, frankly, I think the air will be a bit clearer now that Elvis has left the building, so to speak."

A sigh. "Acknowledged. Listen, Sheppard. Daniel said a few things to me during our flight, things that are making me even more … let's say _concerned_ … than usual. And the fact that you and your team are persona non grata on this jaunt, well, I wouldn't mind if Atlantis was already working out an end run for this play."

_Daniel_. Not Doctor Jackson. Sheppard let his fingers walk over Woolsey's too clean, too neat desk, searching for an outlet for his untapped nervous energy. John had only had a few hours to interact with the man who had opened Earth's Stargate – and had opened the way to Pegasus – and already he could tell that weeks – months – _years_ might not be enough to mine the man's experience. Caldwell had had three weeks. John opened and closed desk drawers, gaze turned inward. What had they discussed? Woolsey? Atlantis? The Wraith? His lips tightened. He'd been warned off this mission, left out of the loop, stripped of any chance to meet with Caldwell, to discuss strengths, weaknesses, these men _or_ this mission, colonel to colonel. And whose strategy was that, he asked himself, already quite sure of the answer.

Eyes narrowed, John weighed Caldwell's words, Daniel's attitude, O'Neill's warnings, and his own well-honed intuition. Daniel had arrived weary, wounded, but ready for a fight. Woolsey was raw, inexperienced, and bearing a chip on his shoulder that could cripple a giant. Keller was that bane of all soldiers facing a strong enemy – a scientist/humanitarian who knew she was right. And one Daedalus class cruiser even with the added bonus of one trigger-happy Satedan was no match for a swarm of Todd's hive ships if this was an ambush.

Tactics snapped into place, gaping holes in this 'Master plan' now peppered with Sheppard's own brand of 'friendly interaction.' His fingers flying over the control panel, he snapped upright.

"Why don't you take your time leaving the system, Colonel? I know your crew is the best there is, but, giving them a chance to take a deep breath and shake out the systems before they meet up with the Wraith seems only fair."

He heard the slow comprehension behind Caldwell's acknowledgment. "Uh-huh. We're scheduled to hit hyperspace in eighteen minutes, Colonel. That suit you?"

Sheppard nodded to himself, typing out the commands to put three jumpers equipped with stealth shields in launch position. "Your call, Colonel. I'll just sit back here and wave," he smiled, figuring Lorne and his other two teams could easily catch up to the Daedalus in time to make the jump in its wake; silent, invisible – ready and armed to the teeth.

Caldwell signed off and Sheppard put the wheels into motion, radioing each team commander with his orders, and then moving to the control room to monitor and watch out the tall windows as the ships moved through the atmosphere before winking out of sight. Hands on his hips, he sighed, wishing it was him at the helm, wishing himself far away from this peaceful, quiet city and into the thick of things, where he belonged.

The Control Room techs checked frequencies, requesting and acknowledging status, a well-oiled machine. They hadn't even hesitated for a moment at Sheppard's new orders. He stopped next to Chuck's station, idling gazing at the inactive 'gate below them.

"Keep me posted," he muttered, looking two, three, four moves ahead to plan ship positions, fallback, counter-attack, and rescue operations, if needed. Lorne would contact Ronon on the other side, set up secure communications. And, if Woolsey was right, and Todd had somehow turned from a self-promoting, back-stabbing frenemy into an upstanding humanitarian, well, he'd never have to know, would he?

"Sir?"

Chuck's voice halted his movement towards the stairs. He turned back, frowning at the data crystal the tech held out in one hand.

"Before Mister Woolsey left, there was a communication from Stargate Command. I was instructed by General O'Neill to make a copy of the communique and deliver it to Doctor Jackson ASAP."

"Really," John murmured, arms crossing over his chest.

"Yes, sir." The tech's throat moved nervously. "In fact, the general was very … straightforward in his wording, sir."

"I can imagine," Sheppard smiled. He snatched the crystal from Chuck's willing hand and raised it in a salute. "I was just about to go check in with the good doctor." He leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "Consider the general's mission accomplished."

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem." He hurried down the stairs. Back-up on its way for Caldwell. City at stand-down. Scientists with their hands full. O'Neill and Jackson talking. His gut churned. What could possibly go wrong?


	10. Chapter 10

"A Moving Sea" Ch 10

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship, and we're headed in an AU direction from the actual eps since I don't think Sheppard is one to sit idly by.

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Ten

Daniel rubbed at the bruise on his hip and slid his gaze towards Rodney's intent face, the scientist's fingers barely grazing the dim control console in front of him. Janus' hidden lab was found, the harmonic resonance field that had held the shape and form of a common wall at the end of an unexceptional corridor disrupted; one puzzle solved, opening the way for hundreds of others. Janus' secrets were still hidden, the Ancient inventor's barriers and blockades falling away very slowly, layer by layer, to reveal the depth of his careful, interminable paranoia.

He assumed that it was Rodney's ATA gene that had brought life to the Ancient systems. As the two had stood within the dark chamber screen after screen, control panel after control panel, had glowed with life. Colored lights blinked, electricity snapped, screens blurred with patterns and shapes, letters, numbers, tessellations, all in the distinct Ancient dialect that he recognized as describing their years in Atlantis. The size of the chamber had been surprising – the deep wealth of knowledge it must contain gradually blanketing Daniel's personal dilemmas with a sense of purpose, of kindling enthusiasm that he hadn't felt in far too long. Rodney's response was similar – outwardly, he'd retreated into an intense silence, brow furrowed, gaze darting from screen to screen as if trying to take everything in at once and frustrated that he'd not been the one to make this discovery – alone. Inside, Daniel was sure that his difficult friend was just as excited as he was.

The technicians working to stabilize the doorway also seemed to be under the influence of the room's antiquity. Low comments and conversations trickled from the edges of the room before dying away, leaving Daniel and Rodney in a bubble of silence.

"What's bothering you?" Daniel nudged his friend's elbow.

Rodney blinked and shifted in his chair, not looking up. "For one thing, I think I'm channeling you."

Daniel felt his eyebrows rise. "Meaning?"

The scientist sighed and flopped back in his chair, his chin set high. "I mean, instead of being all over this stuff, I'm worried. Most of the time when we come across something with the Ancients' fat hands all over it, it turns around and bites us in the …"

"Oh, _that_," Daniel interrupted quickly, a smile darting in and out. "Well, you've certainly had your share of bad experiences, Rod. And, believe me," he grimaced, "I know what tends to happen when I get carried away with _my_ scientific curiosity." The Ori was just the latest example of Daniel Jackson's tendency toward hubris. Sha're's face would always be his first, worst, best, most devastating memory of the consequences of his thoughtless actions. "A little patience, a little caution, might be a good idea. I mean, Janus felt he had to hide his experiments here – maybe not only because he was a complete egotist who was afraid of provoking his own powers that be." He shrugged. "Maybe he'd been bitten in the … mikta … himself a time or two."

"Yeah, see, that's just it." Rodney crossed his arms and looked sideways towards him. "This conscience stuff, the regrets and mea culpas and second guesses – that's not me. That's _you_. You couldn't have rubbed off on me this fast," he added, muttering to himself.

"Sure it is." Daniel mimicked his friend's posture, gaze wandering over the blinking lights of the surrounding consoles. "You've never had regret-"

"Nope."

"… never worried about people you were leaving behind …"

"Never."

"… never tried to resign because of a certain solar system explosion …"

"No, I just – hey!" The front legs of Rodney's chair hit the floor with a thud. "No fair! You aren't supposed to be reading my files!"

"Oh, like you'd do anything different if you had access to my notes." Daniel kept his voice even and held his friend's gaze, hoping to drain away the petulant anger that seemed to be Rodney's default defense mechanism when there were any attempts to get beyond his prickly surface. "Rod – you may have a more advanced ability to fool people about your … inner concerns, but don't insult me by thinking I can't see through the act, okay? I know you. You're not that cocky kid who thought being right and getting one up on Sam was more important that Teal'c's life." His smile was wry, and a little self-mocking. "We've all changed, my friend, whether you believe it or not."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the only one, am I?"

The blow wasn't quite deflected by Daniel's own personal defenses and he winced. People did insist on reminding him of that.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

Apparently the dessert course today would be a serving of painful truths on all sides, then. He held up one hand. "It's okay. You're right." Daniel shook his head, touched by the real anxiety clear in Rodney's eyes. "Right now, I'm only hoping I can change. Turn in a new direction." He frowned. "I've taken the first steps, broken some old habits." Burned some worn-out bridges. "I hope I'm headed down the right path."

"And don't think I'm not going to insist on getting all the sordid details when we've got a minute," Rodney held up one finger as if to pin Daniel down. "Time was, only Jack O'Neill could dig your ass out of that office of yours, let alone send you across the universe."

Daniel braced for more questions, but Rodney, it seemed, was as good as his word. He turned away, rolling the office chair that he'd pinched from a storage room nearby towards a console that he must have decided had special significance. "Okay, tell me, why do you think Janus felt the need to hide both this lab and his research notes so comprehensively?"

Daniel closed his eyes, willing his thoughts back to this moment. "I don't know. Maybe he was ashamed of something he got into. Or maybe he was paranoid. Or," he felt an old wound re-opening, his memory of heavily suited scientists through filtered glass testing a bomb obscured by time and pain and bitterness, "maybe he was afraid his research would fall into the wrong hands."

"Like the old 'pure research versus military action' type of thing, huh?" Rodney made a face. "Could be – we both have experience with that and can thank our lucky stars to be working with people with a modicum of intelligence and morality like Sheppard and O'Neill."

And Maybourne and Simmons and Makepeace and Bauer. "And Woolsey?" Daniel finally asked.

"Hmm. So the jury's still out there." He slapped one hand on the console that sat beneath a strange contraption with a blinking red indicator light. "Okay, barring any objections and hearing none, let's start here."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Daniel attempted.

"You can, but, fair warning; I shall most probably ignore it in favor of my own ideas."

Daniel smiled. "Got it." He looked towards the group of techs who were clearly finished with their work and were starting to make hesitant moves towards the lab's interior whenever Rodney's back was turned. "I was just thinking, in the interest of new beginnings and turning over new leaves, why don't we stop assuming that we're the only ones who should have a hand in exploring this place and call in some help?"

The shocked expression on Rodney's face was priceless. "Really? You think the foremost scientist on Atlantis and the foremost expert on Ancient culture and languages need _help_?"

"Rod –" Daniel stood and stretched his arms wide to encompass that entire room, "- look around. There's plenty here for everybody."

"Oh, all right," Rodney finally muttered, eying the technicians quietly trembling with eagerness. "But, we should draw up a diagram of what we think we've got here, and you and I definitely get 'dibs' on the cool stuff."

"'Dibs,' yes. That's exactly how we do it at the SGC," Daniel snorted.

"Yeah, well, you're in Atlantis now, buddy."

"I certainly am," Daniel agreed.

oOo

One long hour later and Daniel tried to blink some moisture into his dry eyes, momentarily distracted to see Sheppard step through the seemingly solid wall of the corridor into the lab.

"Wow. That's pretty cool."

"Harmonic resonance," Rodney muttered from across the console.

Sheppard stared back at the deceptively real-looking wall, and then waved one hand through the illusion. "Yeah, I was told, but what happens if the sound goes off and you're in the middle of the wall?"

Daniel opened his mouth to explain the safeguards they'd put into place, but Rodney apparently had other ideas.

"Well, the wall would break apart your body."

Daniel sat back to watch the John/Rodney show. It would definitely be more fun than slamming his exhausted brain up against this Ancient puzzle again.

"Maybe we should, uh ..." Sheppard looked a little queasy now. Poor guy.

Evidently, Rodney was too busy to let him dangle for long. "I've set up a sub-sonic tone generator outside. The wall is now permanently open. Don't worry."

The look on Sheppard's face brought Daniel up straight in his chair. He'd seen that look before. Part annoyance, part exasperation, part 'playing along for the sake of the joke even though he was the butt of it.' It was pure Jack O'Neill.

The lanky colonel strolled over to stand beside him, not noticing Daniel's wide-eyed examination. He leaned over the control panel, head cocked to try get a glimpse of what Rodney was doing, and Daniel felt a bead of sweat creep out from beneath his hairline to trickle down his back. He swallowed thickly, something that tasted like resentment and hurt clogging in this throat. His gaze darted back and forth between Rodney's deceptive disinterest and Sheppard's good natured good-ole boy mask.

He'd seen that before. It looked a lot like friendship.

The friendly banter washed over him, allowing him inside to taste the warmth that didn't really have anything to do with him. Friendship with Jack had been like that, once. Warm. Easy. Each of them sure of their place in the other's life, of the solid foundations they'd built brick by brick with shared memories and hard-fought understanding. Daniel slipped into the deep ruts of the Sheppard/McKay dynamic and let himself be carried along, throwing in a comment or gibe when they left him an obvious opening. All the while, he watched, exchanging short silver hair for Sheppard's messy brown and his own glasses and furrowed brow for Rodney's superficial arrogance.

The colonel's quick gaze lighted on him for a moment, and Daniel wondered if Sheppard could see the depth of his longing. A barely there smile, a familiar roll of his eyes, and Daniel snatched his gaze away, concentrating on the Ancient puzzle in front of him.

"Well, I guess I'll go back to being the boss," the colonel sighed.

Good, Daniel thought to himself, all too aware of his selfish need to tear himself away from this reminder of what he'd lost. Of whom he'd lost.

Rodney chuckled. "How's _that_ going?"

"Pretty boring, actually." The fake sigh, the severely put-upon poor me attitude – Daniel angrily pushed down the memories of earlier days, of new generals' stars, of a three-man team. 

"Well, you're more than welcome to help us crack this first stream cipher." Daniel could feel the sarcasm on his own tongue at Rodney's words, and couldn't help looking up into his friend's 'sharing the joke' glance. "You know," Rodney confided bluntly, "he could have been in Mensa."

Daniel's answering grin might have been too broad, too eager, but he doubted if Rodney could tell – he was having too much fun at Sheppard's expense.

And Sheppard was only too happy to play along. "Why don't you contact me when you two geniuses have a breakthrough? Oh," he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a message crystal, "some general in Colorado Springs is pretty anxious to contact you, Daniel, so here."

Daniel stared at the crystal biding its time there in the colonel's hand, waiting to strike. In Colorado Springs? Why would Landry …

Sheppard leaned down and tugged at his hand, opening clenching fingers so that he could drop the unwanted message into Daniel's sweaty palm. "Do us all a favor and find out what O'Neill wants, will you? You know he's only going to keep pushing until you do."

He watched the straight back of the military man until he disappeared through the doorway, regret struggling with an anger that had urged him to take this step in the first place, that stubbornly kept him from opening Jack's note, from daring to turn back, even for a second, just in case he was swept back up into the hot and cold relationship that had, in turn, flayed him alive and put him back together again.

"He is a lot like him, isn't he?"

Dammit. Rodney wasn't supposed to be observant – or sensitive. "What?" Daniel closed his hand and shoved it into his pocket, bending his head over his work.

"Niiice. Very believable, Daniel." Rodney struck quickly, snatching the notebook from Daniel's nervous fingers. "Listen," he leaned in close, lowering his voice. "You were pretty quick to call me on my inability to pull the wool over your eyes. You think you're any different?"

"Look, Rod-"

"No, Daniel, you look. It doesn't take the genius I am to know that something's got you all tied up in knots. And my money is on O'Neill."


	11. Chapter 11

"A Moving Sea" Ch 11

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship, and we're headed in an AU direction from the actual eps since I don't think Sheppard is one to sit idly by.

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

**A/N: Thank you so much for your comments and reviews. As one of my favorite SG writers once said, "Feedback means the difference between writing and posting."**

Chapter Eleven

"What's going on?"

Sheppard skidded into the Control Room, adrenaline vibrating along nerves that had just relaxed into sleep. Sound asleep one minute, rushing down the Atlantis corridors the next – just another day at the office.

Amelia Banks was pale, focused, her obvious anxiety – along with Chuck's – ramping up the tension in the air. "Tracking a small ship in atmosphere. It's coming right for us."

"Get Jumpers in the air," Sheppard snapped. Who the hell had a ship that small? Had Todd planted a Dart nearby, just waiting for the Daedalus to leave? What the hell for – they couldn't hope to get past Atlantis' shields. Jumpers up to intercept, then dial the space 'gate nearest Lorne's position for a report – his mind ticked off defense and counter-attack.

Banks shook her head at the read-out. "It's closing fast, sir. It'll be here in less than ten seconds."

Ten seconds? Whoever it was, whatever it was, it seemed to know exactly where it was going. "Shields up. I still want Jumpers ready."

Chuck stabbed at the shield control and Sheppard felt the crackle of static electricity that danced along his skin every time the city's shield rose up around them. Good. Let the damn ship smack up against the Ancients' shield. Serve them right for getting him out of bed – he'd never get back to sleep at this rate.

"Here it comes," Banks whispered.

Sheppard watched, motionless, as the ship's indicator on the view screen approached the shields. Straight on, hell bent for leather, the thing didn't turn, didn't slow, didn't seem to know what was waiting for it. He blinked, frowning. Or, maybe it just didn't _care_.

"Wait - what did it just do?" he demanded, unwilling to believe his eyes.

"It passed through the shield." Chuck turned to stare at him as if willing Sheppard to contradict him.

"Yeah, but how did it _do_ that?" Nothing could do that. Well, nothing except … 

"Ancient ships can do that." Banks finished his thought.

The ship finally slowed, hovered, and then began its descent towards one of the city's outlying piers. "All right, tell Teyla and a team of Marines to meet me at that pier." Sheppard ran.

oOo

The figures blurred, shapes chasing each other across the screen he'd chosen as the Atlantis night fell and technicians tiptoed away to their beds. Daniel felt leaden, his body an unmovable mass of muscle and bone, his mind no longer absorbed with the latest Ancient puzzle in this Ancient and alien room on an alien planet, and now reached for the comfort of well-known shapes, accustomed shadows, and the homey feel of concrete walls; the smell of airmen's sweat, day-old coffee, and fragile pages. His glasses sat abandoned on the console beside his computer – why bother even pretending to see what was before him? Instead, his eyes tied up the forms and colors into painfully familiar patterns: the outline of a face half-turned away, the march of lines on a corridor floor, the sketch of a collection of artifacts – the curve of a bowl, the rough texture of a stone, the intricate filigree of a carved bone.

Eyes half-closed he let himself wander along paths of thought he'd denied himself for weeks – memories of a strong, guiding hand on his back, an unlooked for savior in the killing heat of a Central American jungle, dark eyes shadowed by the bill of a cap, retreating, fading, the spark of friendship dimmed, connection eroded. He let himself feel the pain of isolation, watched gestures of love – of affection and intention – rejected, bounced back as if they'd hit against an impenetrable barrier. And, even then, dismissed and deserted, he'd been trapped by the strong bonds that still sought to control him, they still encircled his life, measuring his movements, defining him – holding him to an outmoded role, a tired, dusty character held waiting in the wings of a stage all others had abandoned.

The thread of frustration, of hurt and confusion, had its beginnings there – there at the meeting of expectation and rejection. And now it had grown into a tangled mass of anger and bitterness as Daniel had strained and bucked, trying to find an alternative path, to grab onto a new anchor – to heap up the stones and fragments of a new foundation as change spun him about. A new path was not easy to find when, just a few steps outside his office door, the lines all sped off in the exact same directions. He might have accepted – he might have let go and allowed the hope and anticipation to dwindle, to fade away with time and distance in the aftermath of Jack's move to Washington, in the crushing silences and deadly indifference, if that back that was turned towards him didn't shift now and then – didn't twist to throw a half-smile or a wry glance over a shoulder, and if the callused hands had let go their grip on Daniel's being.

_Go away, but don't go far. _Mixed messages. Faint praise and ringing slap downs. Daniel was too valuable to lose, but too unimportant to be listened to. Too clingy. Too independent. Too head-in-the-clouds, but thank God he can think outside the box. A box was exactly where Jack wanted to put him – away, high on a shelf somewhere, right where he knew he could get at him if he needed to. Take him down and dust him off for a night of pizza and beer, or a tricky translation, or a listening ear. But, keep that box handy so that, if Daniel made any attempts at getting more, at _being_ more, Jack could shove down the lid and tie the cord down tight.

He snorted softly, closing his eyes, grateful for the smothering serenity and distance that sheer exhaustion could bring. Jack O'Neill. Hot and cold, on again, off again, cruel, smirking rejection back to back with a warm hug and a strong shoulder. Daniel's best friend or bitterest rival, brother, companion, chum, ally or foe, enemy, stranger, lover or adversary. What was he? What were they? And why did all these words, all these classifications and descriptions – as contradictory, inaccurate, and just plain wrong as they were – why did they mark out the edges of Daniel's existence? Why did this one, ill-defined relationship sit at the very center of Daniel's life? Why was it tied so tightly to the state of his soul?

He fingered the message crystal in his pocket. Another shallow apology? A carefully worded explanation that neither accepted blame nor admitted fallibility? Or, maybe this time, with the distance of a galaxy and Daniel's firm resolution to leap light years from his former life between them, Jack was finally willing to talk – to open up a crack in his armor and let Daniel in.

He should listen to it. He should take out the creased and dirty envelope that should not weigh so much in his jacket pocket and read what Jack had scribbled there. He should-

"Rodney, this is Sheppard – come in."

Daniel's eyes snapped open. Sheppard sounded winded, on the move – his voice laced with that controlled panic that he'd heard too many times to count in his time with the Stargate program.

Rodney leaned forward and met Daniel's worried stare. "What's up?"

"Get out of there, right now."

They stood, pulled to their feet by the urgency – the fear – in Sheppard's voice. Movement in the doorway turned them almost in unison and Daniel opened his mouth, already forming his own questions for the colonel as he stepped through.

But it wasn't the colonel. The metal-suited figures shot Rodney first, a stream of light catching him, holding him, and dropping him to the floor in one soundless moment. Daniel felt a crackling pain, an unbearable pressure, and fell into darkness.

oOo

Cordite. Heat. The echoing reverberations of gunfire. Sheppard kept his finger back, pounding shot after shot into the alien's shield, willing the thing to fade, to blink out, to leave them an opening so they could get to McKay and Daniel.

Those things knew exactly where to go – cut through Atlantis' shield and four deck plates to get to the corridor outside Janus' lab. They must have gotten a signal of some kind, some notification that the lab was up and running again. Open for business. Hurry, hurry, hurry, it's the Sale of the Century. His weapon clicked and he threw the empty magazine to the floor, reloading without thought or wasted movement. Beside him, Teyla and the Turner were still firing, trying to give him that chance, that slim possibility that he could get to their people before –

"John!"

He saw it. Behind the guard and his shield, two others were already leaving the lab and walking towards them. One was carrying a large box-like device, red light blinking. The other was dragging McKay and Jackson – an unconscious McKay and Jackson – like a couple of bags of potatoes. _Dammit to hell._

The alien's shield was flickering, now. Sputtering and sparking. Not fast enough. Sheppard snarled as the two aliens, their cargo – human and otherwise - in tow, rose up through the hole in the ceiling, heading back the way they'd come. A frustrated yell started low in his belly, prowling up his throat, and he moved forward, step by step, locking it away behind his teeth as the remaining alien's shield dissipated and the bullets finally found their marks, puncturing metal, beating at the creature until it fell at his feet.

Sheppard squinted up through the opening, leaving the thing to Teyla and the Marines. Sky. Nothing but the damned night sky. "Control Room what's the status of that ship?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. They're gone." Banks' strangled voice told him what he already knew. Gone. His gut clenched around a hot, rusty ball of shrapnel shaped like _he should have known_ and _he should have stopped it. _They'd taken McKay and Daniel and a piece of technology that only those two could probably have a hope of figuring out. Sheppard only hoped that their special combined genius would find a way to survive until he could get out there and find them.

And destroy the people who'd taken them.

Atlantis had a new enemy. John Sheppard had a new mission.

oOo

Daniel awoke all at once – dizzy, cold, arms and legs buzzing with pins and needles, metal floor vibrating beneath his cheek. Dark – it was the dark of blindness or burial or the depth of space. Goa'uld stun grenade? Zat gun? Where? Even, deep breaths from beside him made him turn.

"Jack?"

He blinked at the sharp green strands of light that shot across his vision and then shook his head. No – not Jack. That wasn't right. Not anymore. No rough hands reaching out to comfort. No one intent on grounding him with well-honed sarcasm and utter, unquestionable leadership.

Daniel closed his eyes, marshaling his errant thoughts and surging emotions. Okay – it was okay. He didn't need that any more. He'd learned and grown past that puppyish longing for reassurance. It was a new day: new team, new leader, new friends – new Daniel.

"Sam? Mitchell?"

He crawled forward on his elbows and found a hand, an arm in a strange grey sleeve, a body materializing out of the darkness. He scooted further, hand patting. "Hey, you okay?" Male. But not Mitchell. Certainly not Teal'c. His fingers caught at the shoulder.

The patch beneath his fingertips was the wrong shape.

Memories flipped and twisted, riding a wave of confusion and pain to the surface. Not his team. Not SG-1 in any form. Atlantis. McKay. Janus' lab. Attacked by metal-suited invaders. Kidnapped. He shook his head, a wry smile tightening his mouth. Of course.

McKay mumbled something and curled up on his side, away from Daniel, like a child seeking '5 more minutes' before mom pulled back the covers. Daniel sat up on his knees and lifted his eyes. He wasn't blind, it was just very, very dark, the only illumination coming from the thin beams of light that made up their odd triangular prison. Bars by any other name, he figured. Hey, at least no one had knocked him to his knees in forced obeisance to a false god. Yet. He hated that.

Daniel pushed himself to his feet, wishing the hangover-style headache on someone who deserved it, and stepped closer to the stacked … lasers? … electrical impulses? … or were they just the alien equivalent of motion detectors? He reached out with one hand to - shit! That hurt! He pulled back his finger and stuck it in his mouth, soothing the burn. Okay. One hypothesis tested, one answer given. _Wasn't science wonderful?_ he mused.

He walked the length of their cell, measured its width with outstretched arms. Close quarters. The barely discernible feeling of movement beneath his feet. The sharp tang of metal, the taste of oil in the back of his throat. If he had to guess, they were on a ship.

The tap he gave Rodney's foot elicited one groan and then silence. Daniel put his hands on his hips and blew out a breath. The only expert on the Pegasus galaxy and all of her friends and foes seemed determined to get his beauty sleep. "Rodney," he whispered sharply, gaze flicking around the small compartment. He chuckled to himself. Not like the aliens – whoever they were – didn't already know they were there. "Rodney!" he snapped, louder.

One hand emerged to wave Daniel off over his shoulder.

Daniel knelt down and rolled his friend over to his back. "Wakey, wakey," he crooned, watching the scientist's face grimace and wrinkle in unconscious refusal. Well, if he had to – he leaned over and slapped Rodney's face, once, twice …

"Errg." Rodney's arms shot up to block another blow and his eyes blinked up warily. Daniel grabbed an elbow and helped him sit up, steadying the groggy man as he threatened to topple over backwards. "What the hell happened?"

Smiling at the very self-aggrieved tone, Daniel waited for Rodney to get his feet under him and then hauled him upright. "We were attacked," he reminded him, hoping to dismiss the confusion he'd felt when he'd awoken.

"That much I got, thanks." Rodney curled his shoulders and twisted his head back and forth, working out the kinks. "By who?"

"I was kinda hoping you could tell me." Stranger here, new in town, Daniel thought to himself.

The scientist traveled the same route as Daniel had around their cell, his mouth turned down at the corners, and his mind, hopefully, whipping up all the known facts into a few answers. Theories. In his experience, Rodney McKay wasn't long between theories.

"OK, there is no way this is a coincidence. I mean, we discover Janus' super-secret lab and less than twenty-four hours later a bunch of aliens show up, all guns blazing? Don't you think it's a little odd?"

_No, not really._ Daniel kept the sardonic sentiment to himself. He'd awoken in alien prisons far too many times to count. Lately, stretched out on the floor of a medieval cell waiting for the Doci to begin another round of excruciating mental flaying. "Well, now that you mention it ..." he muttered, "unless this is the Pegasus equivalent of the 'Welcome Wagon.'" He shuffled closer. "It isn't, is it? Some kind of new-guy hijinks?"

"No," the scientist snapped.

"So, these guys. Nobody you know?"

"_No_."

"The technology doesn't look familiar? Those metal suits? The cool green lasers?"

Rodney huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes. "Didn't I just say I didn't know them?"

"Okay, okay," Daniel held his hands up in surrender and then fell silent for a moment.

Rodney paced. Then paced back. "I'm pretty sure we're on a ship."

"Yeah."

"So, they're taking us somewhere."

Daniel nodded. "They didn't just kill us," he added.

"True, so that means they want something. Something they think we can provide."

"Something that has to do with the discovery of Janus' lab."

Rodney looked up. "Ancients? Lanteans? It would take someone who knew how to get past Atlantis' defenses to swoop in so fast Sheppard hardly had the chance to warn us about them."

Daniel's mind turned back to the quick glimpse he'd had of their attackers. "But why the suits?"

"And, if there are any surviving Lanteans hiding out there," Rodney continued his own thought, ignoring Daniel's question, "why not just come in and demand their stuff back? They've done that before." He shook his head. "And how the hell did they know that we'd opened Janus' lab?" He shoved his hands up under his armpits. "I'm cold. I don't think well when I'm cold. Or hungry."

"I know, Rod, but I'm not seeing a drawer full of blankets or a slot in the wall where I can order us a couple of cups of Earl Grey and a chicken sandwich." Daniel crossed his arms in a self-comforting move of his own. "But let's power through this. The lab came to life when we stepped inside – no, when _you_ stepped inside, likely reacting to your ATA gene. I've known Ancient technology that just needs to be 'primed,' as it were, to continue to broadcast. The communication stones –"

"Yes, yes, yes," Rodney interrupted him quickly. "Something turned on when I got in there and started broadcasting. And these rude, not-so-Ancient, suited-up types were on the receiving end."

"With another Ancient device," Daniel concluded, trying to tamp down on his annoyance. "Maybe another of Janus' devices in another lab just like the one we found."

Rodney frowned. "Well, we know the guy was paranoid. But what the heck would he be so paranoid about that he didn't even keep it in his super-secret, password-protected, hidden-passageway lab on Atlantis, but had to move it to another planet?"

"Something he really didn't want anyone to know about, or," Daniel hesitated, "something so dangerous, keeping it on Atlantis wasn't safe."

"Great." Rodney drew the word out into a moan. He rubbed at his forehead. "And these space-nappers found it and have been poking around at it for who knows how long, probably screwing things up royally and will expect me to fix it. They finally get a signal from whatever I turned on and now they think they've got a couple of Ancients to help them out and we get a free trip to God-And-All-His-Little-Angels-Knows-Where. Well, that's just peachy."

It sounded feasible. Logical. Eliminate the snide, self-involved comments and Rodney's conclusions were probably sound. And, once they were allowed to interact with their captors, maybe it would help Daniel understand enough to communicate with them, to reason with them. He needed more information; he needed to make some kind of connection with these … beings. And he needed to assess the risk here. First contact should not be made over the barrel of a weapon or from behind the walls of a prison cell, but, unfortunately, he had plenty of experience with negotiating from a position of weakness instead of strength. And they had, apparently, already scooted right past the whole 'take me to your leader' thing.

He eyed Rodney, weighing carefully. With his own team, Daniel knew what to expect, how each one would respond to a situation like this one. Sam would be doing just what Rodney was – examining the cell for weaknesses. Teal'c would be preparing himself to protect them all – just like he always did. And Jack – Daniel closed his eyes and tried to push away the unwanted image – _Mitchell_ would be rounding up all the theories and coming up with a plan. Rodney McKay wasn't the poster child for cooperation and equal sharing of insights, but he could do this – _they_ could do this. "All right, good theory," he nodded towards the other man. "So what do we do?"

Rodney looked around. "Well, we've gotta get out of here." He bent closer to the laser-bars, examining them up and down the length of one wall, his plan clearly already made.

Daniel could practically hear Jack's voice. _The first responsibility of a prisoner is to stay alive. The second, escape. Don't mix them up, Danny. Live, first. Escape, second._ Well, I'm alive, Jack, he told the annoyingly tenacious hovering presence that never seemed to leave him. He cleared his throat and concentrated. We're alive. We're safe. Not stripped naked and hung on a rack or being tortured by ribbon devices or electricity applied via car battery. He watched Rodney's narrowed eyes and focused expression. We're alive. Safe. Going … somewhere. "Hey, we're probably on a ship travelling through hyperspace," Daniel reminded his friend. "Where are we going to go?"

"I'll think of something. I always do."

The dismissive self-confidence behind Rodney's claim scratched along Daniel's nerves like acid. He admired the scientist's spirit, but could have done with a little less arrogance. And a little more listening. Eyebrows rising, he watched Rodney reach out a tentative finger towards one strand of green light. Hmm. Should he or shouldn't he?

"Ow!"

Oops, too late. "Oh yeah, I tried that. They zap you when you touch them."

Rodney spun around, glaring, and popped his finger out of his mouth. "You could have told me that before I touched it!" he shouted.

Daniel smiled. "I could have, yes." He waited, calm, patient, until Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Okay, I'm listening," the scientist muttered.

"Good." Daniel sat, careful not to let any part of his body touch the electrical field around them. "Let's talk."


	12. Chapter 12

"A Moving Sea" Ch 12

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship. Slightly AU from the actual eps since I don't think Sheppard is either stupid or incompetent. Woolsey, on the other hand …

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Twelve

Adrenaline buzzing, mind mapping objectives and priorities, whats and whens and just how big a hole he could blow in the alien ship without killing the two people he was out to save, Sheppard stood silently, eyes hooded, as he leaned against the infirmary wall. Watching. Tight fists were hidden beneath crossed arms, the sick, twisted feeling in his gut reminding him that time was passing, and, second by second, Daniel and Rodney were being taken farther and farther away from them.

Zelenka moved too slowly – too carefully. The scientist, hair standing up around his head like a feral dandelion, mumbled to himself as his Marine assistants shifted the alien's unwieldy bulk on its gurney beneath the Ancient scanner. Sheppard did not look at his watch.

In the middle distance between Sheppard's withdrawal and Zelenka's cautious fidgeting, Teyla balanced; steady, exuding that Zen-like calm that tended to surround her and dig in right under John's skin like a swarm of irritating ticks. She studied the readings on the screen over Zelenka's shoulder and Sheppard, staring, waiting for it, saw the slight tensing of her muscles, heard the almost stifled sigh just before the scientist pushed himself away from the monitors.

"It's no good. I'm still not getting any useful readings. The suit is emitting some sort of E.M. field that's disrupting the scanner. I have no idea how to shut it off." His frustration seemed to billow out and combine with Sheppard's, crackling through the air.

"There's no way to penetrate the shell and see what's under there?" If this was a dead end John had to know – had to find another way, chase down another lead, before the alien ship had too great a head start.

Zelenka shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Do you think there's a human underneath all that armor?" Teyla tilted her head to the side, her voice almost wistful.

Sheppard didn't care. "Impossible to say. Could be a robot." Or a Replicator. Or an Ancient. Or something they'd never laid eyes on before. It was a damned big galaxy out there. Speculation was useless. Unless the thing woke up or turned on or peeled open like a grape, it wouldn't tell him what he needed to know.

"One thing's for sure," Zelenka admitted, "this armor is not like anything we've ever seen before." He turned to Sheppard. "This might be first contact with another species."

"Funny they decided to take the foremost expert on alien first contact in two galaxies with them, isn't it?" No. Not funny at all. He knew Daniel Jackson's record of accomplishments, that he'd made lifelong friends and allies with the ogre-like Unas, he'd talked his way – his team's way, _the Earth's_ way – out of unbelievable situations since he'd opened the 'gate in the first place. Hopefully, his innate ability to make friends would counterbalance McKay's unconscious skill at annoying people until they threatened him with death.

"So, what do we do?"

Sheppard felt the stares of every person in the room like heavy missiles striking bone. Fine. He could handle that. "We don't even know if whatever is in there is still alive, just biding its time before another attack." He didn't have time for this. "Take what readings you can and then put it in a holding cell under heavy guard." He glared his orders at the three Marines and gathered Teyla and Zelenka with narrowed eyes and a slight jerk of his chin. "We're going to find our missing men."

oOo

"You asked to see me?" Caldwell stepped just inside the door of the medical lab. He felt Keller's glance, heavy and anxious, her pride and dedication keeping her at her task, but her fear leaving as much space as possible between her and the room's other occupant. Eyes straight ahead, the colonel met the dead white stare of the gaunt, alien figure that stood, unmoving, his cold rage seeming to expand into every inch of space within the room. Caldwell marked the position of each guard on the battle map he carried in his head, noting lines of fire and possible obstacles to movement almost unconsciously, automatically, the habit of battles lost and won with enemies human and … decidedly otherwise. And this … this _thing_ … was definitely an enemy.

Wraith. A figure straight out of a child's nightmare with teeth and claws and an unquenchable hunger. A being that could only exist by literally feeding from human life. Every visceral response within the veteran soldier urged him to fight, to kill, to eliminate the threat. He slid his hands into his pockets.

"I did." Todd's voice grated on the ear, hoarse and low, as if he was forcing the words from a throat not designed to let them pass. The long black robe against his dead white skin leant him a kind of regality, the innate arrogance of his rigid stance only adding to the air of condescension that poured from his pale, carved figure. "You are a man of command, Colonel. A man of decisive action, not unlike your Colonel Sheppard."

Caldwell heard the slight hesitation before the Wraith smiled around Sheppard's name, as if the thing was tasting it. He nodded carefully. "I am."

The answering growl seemed to propel Todd closer. "And you recognize that I am, first and foremost, a warrior? _The_ warrior among my cohort?"

The colonel frowned. "Of course." Wraith didn't get into positions of power through grassroots campaigns and general elections.

"That I lead my warriors not with pretty speeches or-" his nose wrinkled with disgust, "extended dialogues concerning my philosophy of war."

Caldwell let out a long, slow stream of breath through his teeth. Damn it. He knew this was a bad idea. He tightened down his surging resentment of all Earth politicians and deskbound 'experts' who believed that enemies were made up of ones and zeros or carefully measured diagrams on blue-lined graph paper. He crossed his arms and cocked his head, gaze unchanging, looking down his nose at the seething Wraith. "We have more than enough evidence of your … leadership style."

Todd took another half-step. "Then explain to me why one such as your Mister Woolsey," his bristling contempt for the man was palpable, "has been placed in charge of this mission – this … self-righteous insistence that we change - change our very essence. Change who we were created to be and become something else, all for the benefit of the human race."

"But it's for _your_ benefit too." Keller hurried forward to stand at Caldwell's side. "If you don't have to rely on human feeding the war would be over and your people could grow and evolve past a completely martial existence. Your culture could expand; you could make allies and trade, settle down-"

"Become human."

The words echoed back from steel bulkheads, magnified, until they sounded like the voice of God pronouncing judgment. The colonel heard Keller's soft gasp of surprise and caught her eye, silencing an immediate defense of the science, the eager impulse to throw words at this being, the speaker for his race.

"If you'd excuse us, Doctor Keller?" She wanted to refuse. He saw that check in her stance, the flicker of her gaze, her urge to insist on her presence in some kind of display of her imagined authority here. The colonel raised one eyebrow and jerked his head towards the door behind him. "Thank you." She flinched at the dismissal but moved out.

The slight movement of air at her passing bled off the top layer of tension and Caldwell drew a breath. Todd was shrewd, had the quick intellect of the predator combined with the patient resilience of a being that had survived a brutal existence longer than a dozen human lifetimes. "Why did you come here?" the colonel finally asked. "You didn't think of these objections once you realized Mister Woolsey was in charge of the mission," he stated slowly, careful to keep his own voice neutral and nonthreatening.

"Perhaps my misgivings have gathered more clarity since I arrived on your vessel."

Perhaps. But, more likely, the Wraith leader sensed some kind of opportunity here. Without the weight of Sheppard's history, his reputation for doing whatever necessary to keep Todd in line; without the back and forth, the give and take of their battles, debts owed and due, this meeting was a waste of time – or worse. "Mister Woolsey's presence here is evidence of just how important our people regard this mission." _Chew on that_.

The flat, pale eyes narrowed, restrained violence registering in every angle, every slight twitch of muscle or turn of the head. Todd's hands opened and closed at his sides as if itching to go for a weapon or to reach one lethal palm towards Caldwell's chest. "Explain," the Wraith demanded.

"As the leader of our people in the Pegasus galaxy, Mister Woolsey wanted to conduct this … negotiation …" he gave a slow nod, acknowledging the weakness of that word for what the Wraith were being asked to give up here, "as your counterpart."

Thin lips tightened. "My counterpart. A small man. A man of _words_."

"There was no offense intended." Caldwell held both hands out to his sides, unapologetic. "Some of our bravest warriors have fought with words." One in particular came to Caldwell's mind.

"And is Mister Woolsey one you would name so – one of your _bravest warriors_?"

The colonel didn't blink. "I have my orders. Orders that give Mister Woolsey the authority to act on our behalf."

"Ah, yes. Orders." Todd's smile was hungry. "More words. And if I find I have had enough words, Colonel Caldwell?"

A buzz of adrenaline shot through the officer, awakening every nerve, brightening every point of light in the room. There were Wraith warriors on his ship, enemies who could not be effectively disarmed, more waiting just beyond his shields, and the only thing that stood between his men and utter destruction was the good will of this … creature. What the hell had they been thinking?

"Hey, Caldwell."

Ronon.

Todd's undead gaze flicked away, over his shoulder, just for a moment, the shift of muscle beneath the heavy robe nearly undetectable, but Caldwell saw the eager flare of nostrils, the bare hint of an eager smile.

"Satedan."

Ronon slipped easily to Caldwell's side, larger than life, obviously positioning himself in a stance that meant, 'threat,' and 'suspicious,' and 'bring it on.' And then proceeded to ignore the alien completely. "Got a message," he grunted.

Caldwell held his features to their blandest as his mind hurried to fill in the blanks Ronon was leaving. _Ronon_ received a message? From _whom_? And how – _and why_ – had he bypassed the ship's communications?

And how could Caldwell disengage himself from Todd's demands before they'd settled whatever point of honor or imagined slight the Wraith was intent on exploiting?

The colonel huffed out a breath. He wasn't a game player – couldn't fence with words like others could. Maybe honesty would work. "Are we done here? Are you interested at all in this medical research or should we escort you and your men back to your ship?"

A glint of life within Todd's dead eyes could have been the beginning of a smile – if he'd been human. "Interested? Yes." Long, colorless hair shifted as the Wraith shook his head. "Eager to place my warriors – those who trust me with their lives – under the thrall of your good intentions? No." Shoulders rising and falling in a dramatic sigh, Todd tilted his head. "Perhaps if Colonel Sheppard or Doctor McKay were here to present a more … personal or compelling argument than your Mister Woolsey or Doctor Keller could -"

Ronon's eyes narrowed as he turned, finally, to face the Wraith. "Funny you should say that." He flicked a glance at Caldwell before locking eyes again with his enemy. "Sheppard is on his way here in a Jumper. And McKay and Jackson are missing."

oOo

The paper was soft between Daniel's fingers. Soft and supple from resting against his chest, from the many times he'd pulled it from the inside pocket of his jacket and traced his hastily scrawled name. He'd always meant to read it. Figured, when he was settled, when he'd made Atlantis his home, gathered some sense of his place among these people, when he felt grounded again, at peace, he'd be able to read Jack's words with enough distance and balance to survive whatever he'd written there.

After over twelve years with the Stargate program, you'd think he'd know better.

He leaned a little closer to the glowing green bars of their prison, glancing up to make sure Rodney was still busy trying to figure out how to use the waste disposal tube he'd discovered in the floor as a means of escape. Hey, if he could manage to flush himself to safety, Daniel was all for it, but these aliens didn't strike Daniel as the "Oops, we overlooked an obvious loophole in our escape-proof prison!" types.

He tuned out Rodney's constant muttering and carefully peeled back the envelope's flap, the seal long since become dry and brittle. Smiling, he imagined Jack's face, screwed up at the nasty taste of the adhesive, licking along the edge and then banging his fist down to seal it over and over again. Sliding out the single piece of stationery – Air Force logo emblazoned proudly at the top – he was faced with the stark reminder of Jack's decision all those years ago in the simple black font: Major General Jonathan O'Neill.

During Daniel's more fair-minded moments; on bright mornings or beneath startlingly beautiful alien skies, surrounded by antiquities that spoke of humanity's resilience or by young men and women still hopeful, still facing the Stargate with wide-eyed wonder, he could be kind. He knew that time had crept up on Jack, grinding his joints to dryness, leaving him with the painful rasp of past bones broken, back muscles screaming for relief. Those depthless eyes had watched younger men die, had sent them on journeys filled with torture and pain, and had stood too many times beside honor guards, pressing a folded flag into a tearful mourner's arms.

Jack had needed to move on. To fly a desk behind thick walls, reminded of the sacrifices made by others not with horridly vivid images, but by words typed on elegant white paper.

But, during the black, brooding silence of a sleepless night, in an office filled with reminders of a strong, true, _constant_ presence at his side, in his life, that had left an aching hole in its wake, and, sometimes, standing among those faceless uniforms who looked at him but never seemed to _see_, Daniel still boiled with resentment. Reminded of an attachment left dangling, one-sided; cool words of dismissal across telephone lines, the severing of a lifeline.

Too cowardly to make demands, too afraid of the final fall of the axe between them, he'd swallowed his hurt, taking it out now and then to examine with brushes and tools, under hands long used to touching with reverence and dedication, intent on preserving it in the museum of his soul. Until, finally, he'd given up.

Or had he?

Here, now, within another alien prison, with another type of teammate, with puzzles to solve, new allies or enemies to make, battles to fight, a silent laugh shook through Daniel at his own blindness. His 'one last meeting' with Jack, his furious demands for independence, his insistence that he be the one to make the longest step, to widen the distance between them into light-years – he dropped his chin to his chest, eyes closed. If he'd wanted a true and final break, he wouldn't have kept Jack's letter so close to his heart, terrified to open it and read 'good-bye.'

Waiting wasn't an option anymore. These beings wanted something – something that Daniel knew, making a well-honed-suspicion prediction on the fly, would be something he wouldn't want to give. He raised his head and lifted the page, a strange sense of peace enfolding him.

'_Okay – I can see you're serious this time. So sue me that I don't like the thought of you being in a whole nother galaxy. Although, yeah, lately, that kinda sums us up, doesn't it?'_

'_Don't give me the eyebrow, either. I know it's my fault. Mostly. More than half. Maybe two-thirds. But you were always the better man, Dr. Jackson.'_

'_And I am your friend, no matter what. No matter what's happened or what's been said. I'll be here when you get back. And we'll talk. I promise.'_

'_Or – here's a thought – I know the fishing out there is pretty epic. I could swing by … check out the new digs … buy you a beer. What's the etiquette book say is the right amount of time to wait to visit when someone – a friend – a damned best friend – moves away?'_

'_Either way, I'll be seeing you.'_

'_J.'_

'_PS. And don't let Sheppard talk you into doing anything stupid. His brain's mostly held together with hair gel, I think. Make friends – I know you will. But make it clear they don't get to keep you. Dibs.' _

'_PPS. Yes, I can too claim dibs.'_

Daniel bowed his head and closed his eyes against the sudden moisture there.


	13. Chapter 13

"A Moving Sea" Ch 13

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Chapter Thirteen

The Jumper shuddered around him, leaping from the Spacegate like a racehorse at the starting line. "C'mon, baby," Sheppard whispered, stroking the console, "don't let me down." At the strangled cough from beside him he twisted his mouth into a grin and glanced sideways. "What? It always pays to be polite."

Radek's knuckles were white where he clutched at the co-pilot's seat, his eyes wide behind thick glasses. "It's just – I don't think I've ever seen – felt - a Jumper move quite so quickly."

Sheppard frowned down at the controls before him. "Pretty cool, huh? I'm sure Rodney would say that it's got something to do with the Ancient gene and adrenaline and stuff like that. But I think, sometimes, she just likes to run."

"Yes, well, Rodney would, no doubt, have much to say, Colonel Sheppard."

The deck beneath his feet shook, metal vibrating, quicksilver rattles turning into a steady hum that grew louder and louder, drilling into his head and taking up residence somewhere at the base of his skull. Yeah, Rodney would have a lot to say. He'd talk about anything – incessantly – usually having to do with Sheppard's illogical gut instincts, his very unscientific feelings of dread and anger, and the sense that, no matter how fast he chased them, he was going to be too late. He'd remind him that running towards a fight with beings so far beyond Atlantis' weapons or shields was likely to be suicide. He'd laugh at Zelenka's calculations, turning up his nose at the algebraic leaps and theoretical assumptions the scientist had made to untangle the Ancient subspace signal and trace it back along its path from Janus' lab on Atlantis towards, what they blindly hoped, would be M6H-987. He'd –

Zelenka cleared his throat. "I'm sure they are fine, Colonel Sheppard. These beings would not have bothered kidnapping Doctor Jackson and Rodney if they were simply going to kill them."

Sheppard snapped his mind from its frantic pace and felt the ship settle down beneath his hands. "Right." He toggled a switch. Right. Of course. Simple rescue mission. Simple rescue mission in a remote part of space with no Stargates, hauling ass to meet their only hyperdrive fitted vessel which, just by the way, is loaded with Wraith. No sweat. "Sheppard to Robbins, come in, Captain." His readings showed one of the two Jumpers he'd sent to shadow the Daedalus just at the edge of his sensors.

"Robbins, here. We got your message, Colonel. Major Lorne has been in touch with Ronon and has landed his Jumper on the Daedalus. Colonel Caldwell is on his way to rendezvous with you."

Nodding, Sheppard checked his navigation and watched the new data scroll in, his ship turning effortlessly to hurry towards the rendezvous point. He'd be hustling the Jumper at full acceleration to catch up - the Daedalus would make short work of the journey and be waiting for him. Didn't want to come out of hyperspace and squash him like a bug. "Your status?"

"We're still a ways out from the 'gate, sir. I understand our orders are to monitor the Wraith ships' activity until we get to the 'gate in … approximately 85 minutes … and then dial her up."

Sheppard grimaced. "Any movement since Caldwell took off with Todd and his personal guard?"

He could almost hear Robbins shake his head. "No, sir. Todd made one open transmission to his ships to await him here unless there was an immediate threat to his allies from another hive. They're just sitting out there."

The colonel wanted that Jumper back in the skies above the city, patrolling with the others. He was spreading his forces too thin – he knew that. Knew that, if these robot-guys made another run, came back for their buddy still lying motionless in the Atlantis cell, Teyla would need every ship, every gun, he could give her. And, even then it might not be enough.

"Acknowledged, Captain. If the Wraith haven't made a move by the time you reach the 'gate, head home." The Wraith could sit out here in the middle of nowhere if they wanted to. As long as they didn't make this an opportunity to come for Atlantis, they could twiddle their thumbs out here waiting for Todd forever.

"Roger, Colonel. Good luck."

Sheppard sighed, fingers tracing lightly over the controls. "We could sure use some," he muttered. Luck was not supposed to be an Air Force watch-word. You didn't fly into enemy territory on a rescue mission trusting to luck. But, for some reason, the Pegasus galaxy changed everything, and luck was just something else he made sure to fit into his TAC vest before every step through the 'gate. And, no matter what McKay said, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or stuttered out some explanation about quantum forces or the laws of physics, Sheppard had to believe in something else, something – or someone – who would, from time to time, flick the dice, or flap a butterfly wing, in the right direction.

Staring out through the view screen, he let the sounds and tiny movements of the ship fade away, losing himself in the blackness of space. He knew it was empty; empty of life, of light, of warmth, but, for him, space itself was alive. A mysterious creature reaching out to envelop worlds, suns, and civilizations. Souls. It piled up between Atlantis and Earth like siege walls, crept in to fill every unguarded opening, and would eat at every connection you made if you let it. It wore at you, made you numb and emotionless and insensitive just to cope with it – and Sheppard had battled against it ever since he'd come to Atlantis. Meeting the Wraith almost as soon as they'd arrived, losing men, watching them die under the hands of an enemy he could never imagine - it would have been so easy to let the stress, the loneliness, the hopelessness devour his soul like it had the Genii's.

But, hope was not something that John Sheppard was willing to let go. And re-reading Daniel Jackson's file had deepened his belief, his deep-seated certainty that there was more out there into a solid conviction. Beyond the self-proclaimed demi-gods of any universe, beyond the Ancients or the Ori, Ancestors, Asurans, whatever you wanted to call them, _something_ out there arranged events, swirled times and relationships into place, and raised up people like Jackson – like Jack O'Neill and Elizabeth Weir, Sam Carter and, yes, even Rodney McKay – to stand against the tide of evil that did its best to swallow up the light.

He didn't mind the thought that, on ordinary days and in the frantic midst of battle, a hand – somewhere – was writing the rest of the scene, or filling in the rest of the mosaic with the right colors and shapes.

Sheppard shrugged, the silence of deep space seeping into his spirit as it always did, the enforced patience of his body letting his mind roam through pathways of thought better left to prophets and dreamers – to people like Teyla, he smiled to himself. Who knew, without Rodney's constant demands for attention and Ronon's irritated threats of retaliation on every mission, maybe Sheppard could be a deep thinker like her – like Jackson. He shuddered. Yeah, no thanks.

He urged the little ship to greater speed and tried to ignore Zelenka's mumbled Czech prayers beside him.

oOo

"Can we talk to somebody in charge? I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. There's no need to treat us this way."

The alien shoved Daniel forward, gloved hand gripped hard in the collar of his jacket, the threat of violence not quite veiled as he and Rodney were hustled along the hallway, dragged along if they stumbled, impatient demands made clear without words or facial expressions. Dammit. He needed them to talk, to respond to him in some way that didn't involve lurching movements, bruising grips, or gestures.

Were they robots after all? Automatons built to serve a specific purpose without any possibility of changes to their programming? Even then, sometimes Daniel still had a chance. He pictured Lotan aboard the Gadmeer vessel looming over the new Enkaran world, fiery death poised at his fingertips. He remembered the fear and panic in Reese's dark eyes standing among her deadly 'toys' before the 'gate, searching for compassion, for kindness, even as she killed. Even constructs could be reasoned with, could be reached with honesty and the offer of a true, genuine connection.

A door on his left opened soundlessly and the figure in the lead stepped inside, carrying the box-like mechanism over to a familiar-looking bank of controls. The hand on his collar suddenly let go and he felt a sharp punch in the middle of his back, propelling him forward. He gritted his teeth and steadied himself against another console, turning back to see Rodney straightening beside him. At least their abductors hadn't separated them.

The armored figures stomped to the door, stopping just inside the room to face them and Daniel took a deep breath, ready to try again.

"Get the device operational."

His eyebrows jerked up, mouth hanging open soundlessly. The being had spoken, gesturing towards the blinking machine they'd dragged all the way from Atlantis and, somehow, plugged into the existing console. The voice was modulated, filtered, but didn't sound engineered, didn't sound like it was made by a mechanical speaker. A memory tickled at the back of his brain, a similarity of inflection or syntax. No, Daniel shook his head, with so few words to go on he couldn't make more than a wild-assed guess. Not that he hadn't done that before. But, still, why did it seem as if he knew these creatures, as if they might be purposefully hiding behind their armored masks and silence, afraid he might recognize them?

He took a step forward but the three figures moved back and the doors slid closed between them.

Rodney surged into action at his side. "Oh, great! Sealed shut and they've removed the door controls from this side." 

Daniel turned in a slow circle, taking in the architecture, the gleaming copper colors and spare lines. It reminded him of Atlantis. Frustration pounded behind his eyes, the struggle to understand, to explore, find clues and follow up on them blossomed into pain. This was a science lab – lifeless and cold – dedicated to numbers and the pale, pallid logic of circuits and wires. Not a tomb or shrine where he could read the ancient languages and unlock the puzzles, touch meaning and desire and, sometimes, the heart of a culture, the soul of a people. There was no life here, no warmth or history, not a breath of intention or a hint of motivation. What the hell good could _he_ do here?

"Where the hell are we?" Daniel seethed, anger and weariness stifling his vocabulary. What good were all of his words if no one would listen?

McKay didn't hesitate. Hands on his hips, he reacted to the question as if it contained no subtext, no hint of the defeat that had begun to sing along Daniel's nerves. "I'd say judging by the Lantean architecture, I'd guess, you know, a secret Janus facility - which is, you know, probably bad for us because it probably means it's hard to find." 

"So, I guess that means no hope of rescue any time soon." Daniel snapped his mouth closed too late. Rescue? What the hell? Where was all his vaunted independence and self-reliance? One note, one mention of friendship – of affection and protectiveness – from Jack and all Daniel could think of was rescue. Military types wielding great big guns coming to drag him from danger. Suck it up, Jackson, he told himself. Keep it together. Rodney wasn't best known for his grace under pressure – at least he could act as a safety valve for his friend's frustrations. He wrestled conflicting emotions to the side, pressing them back into that dark hole in his psyche where he kept losses and pain and self-doubt.

He watched as Rodney paced over to the device attached to the top of the console, the scientist's gaze shifting quickly between its red blinking light and the control panel. One hand gestured. "Does that look familiar to you?"

Breathing deeply, Daniel stepped closer. "Yeah, it's the device from the Atlantis lab."

"At least we know why they brought us with them."

Closing his eyes briefly to keep from rolling them, Daniel snapped back. "Yeah, they need us to get the device operational. I got that." _Us. Funny._

Rodney huffed out a strangled laugh. "Right. And I don't think we're gonna get any more info from Talky McSays-A-Lot out there, so fire up these consoles; let's see what we're dealing with."

Rodney was right again. Talking wasn't working. Daniel got that, too. At least he could help with this. The Ancient controls were clearly labeled and Daniel reached towards the switch which would initialize the console.

At his side, McKay raised one hand. "Not like that."

_What?_ He pulled his hand back, frowning, searching the Ancient terms and indicators again. That was right, wasn't it?

"Uh, yeah, well, like that." Rodney shifted against him, nudging him to the side, and reached out for the exact control Daniel had been about to press.

"Rodney…"

"Okay, that was the one."

Daniel bit at his lips, reminding himself that Rodney was feeling as helpless as he was. Another nudge from his hip and Daniel stumbled sideways. Helpless? He _needed_ Daniel? Right. Doctor Rodney McKay was not about to 'need' Daniel Jackson. What _was_ he thinking?

Rodney leaned across Daniel's body, effectively blocking him from the panel. "And I need to be right here …"

_Yeah, very subtle. I get the point_, Daniel thought. He stepped back, hands up in surrender. _Get out of my way. _Daniel had a lot of experience doing that.

"Yeah, thanks."

"You're welcome, Rodney. So glad I could help," Daniel muttered under his breath, distancing himself from his over-eager friend. He walked the length of the room once, twice, and ended up at the other console, back turned to Rodney's muttering, fidgeting figure. Daniel leaned forward, arms braced, head slung between his shoulders, eyes closed.

How funny was this? Feeling useless and unneeded back on Earth, in the SGC, by anyone who mattered to him, had led Daniel to reach out and grab the chance to go to Atlantis with both hands. Running from decisions, consequences, _everything_, had brought him face to face with his own very limited range of abilities. What, exactly, was he offering? What could he bring to the table in Atlantis? Even aside from Woolsey's absolute hatred, his demand that Daniel be sent back as soon as possible, just what would convince anyone that Daniel Jackson would be an asset to the Atlantis mission?

He chuckled, pain lancing his apparently super-inflated ego. Maybe this is what Jack had wanted to save him from all along – the sure and certain knowledge that Dr. Jackson was not such a big deal after all.

Eyes open now – in more ways than one – the dials and read-outs beneath his hands caught at his attention, drawing him away from black thoughts that whirled and spun and sickened him. _This was not a good time for a crisis of confidence,_ he reminded himself harshly. Translating automatically – unconsciously - his fingers ghosted over the buttons and gauges, slipping along the slick controls without leaving a trace. Power. An enormous amount of power led into this lab. Leashed. Waiting. Waiting for … what?

"This facility's tapped into some pretty serious power generation. I've never seen anything like it before." Not on a Goa'uld mother ship. Not on Celestus. Aboard Anubis' ship as he attacked Abydos … no, Dakara came the closest. The Ancient mechanism that seeded life in the galaxy.

Behind him, Rodney spoke hesitantly, voice full of awe – or, possibly, dread. "You'd _need_ a lot of power."

He turned. "What?"

Rodney spun to face him. "I think I know what this thing does."

Cold horror began to collect in Daniel's gut. "What?"

Face ashen, throat working soundlessly, Rodney's gaze was stark, brittle. "It's an end game machine."

End game. Daniel understood the metaphor. Checkmate. Ultimate destruction. Think nuclear winter on steroids. "How so?" he whispered. 

"If it works the way I think it does, it would mean the end of the Wraith once and for all."

Just the Wraith? Daniel frowned. If the Ancients had found a way to destroy the Wraith, why wouldn't they have used it? And, why was Rodney acting as if the thought of the Wraith's destruction was such a frightening thing? He stepped towards the other man. "So how do you destroy the Wraith once and for all?"

Rodney huffed a sharp laugh. "Well, I never said 'destroy.' I mean, it would lead to that, I suppose, but this device would stop them dead in their tracks."

He watched Rodney's mind process; could see it in the shifting of his gaze, the tense flexing of his muscles, the way his shoulders hunched protectively. Daniel wanted answers, but he knew better than to shut off Rodney's 'processing' with demands for explanations; to slap him down would just derail the scientist into defensive babbling. He allowed himself simple, one word questions. "How?" _Fill in the blanks, Rod_, he encouraged silently, _for both of us_.

Long fingers fidgeting in small, jerky movements, Rodney nodded. "It creates a very specific subspace static ... uh, turbulence is probably a better way of looking at it."

_More, Rod_. "Which …?"

"Okay." Rodney's face cleared into his well-known, sharply focused intensity and he took a breath. "So at its base level, a hyperdrive allows you to travel great distances by entering and exiting subspace."

Daniel almost smiled. Lecture mode. The two of them were more alike than he wanted to admit. "Okay, this much I already know, yes." He followed the scientist back towards the main console, looking out through the portal into another, smaller room, which housed two antenna-like mechanisms and a crouching silver device.

"Okay, so, if this machine is capable of actually functioning safely, it disrupts the very specific subspace frequencies the Wraith use," Rodney explained.

"So they wouldn't be able to engage their hyperdrive." Daniel nodded.

One finger pointed dramatically. "Well, that's the genius," Rodney stated with a half-smile. "They _would_ be able to engage their hyperdrives. It's just that their particular channel of subspace would be destabilized and their ship would be ripped into a million pieces."

"When this device is turned on, every time a Wraith ship enters hyperspace, it self-destructs?" Holy … Daniel saw the Ancients' fingerprints all over this strategy; the long-range mentality that only came with near-endless lifespans and minds unattuned to human thinking. Don't kill the Wraith, but, as the species existed only in the space between planets, on ships that scoured the galaxy for game, where space travel meant life and battle and sustenance and staying put meant a dwindling, painful death, it would have eliminated the Wraith completely. "It's a pretty effective idea." Effective. Horrible, but effective.

"Yeah! I mean, because even if word got back to the other Wraith that the ships should stop using their hyperdrives, they'd be stuck where they were. They'd only be able to travel using sub-light engines."

With no home worlds, no colonies to fall back to, and only sub-light travel available… Daniel tried to imagine screaming his last breath into the void of space, utterly alone. A quick flash of pale, carved features, cowled robes, eyes once filled with fanatical pride now empty of hope, desolate. This is how the Priors had died – wasting away in sudden, stark loneliness until …

"And because Ancient ships' hyperdrives operate on a different frequency of subspace, the Ancients could fly around the galaxy and pick them off one by one."

Rodney shrugged. "Yeah, or you just leave 'em to die in the vastness of space."

Of course. Because, just turning a switch and walking away kept your hands clean, didn't it? Like opening a box.


	14. Chapter 14

"A Moving Sea" Ch 14

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Daniel took a deep breath, drawing on the memory of flickering candlelight, the sharp scent of matches, and a strong, silent figure sitting across from him. Teal'c had helped him reclaim his past after Vis Uban, lodging Daniel firmly in the present, and had then taught him to find his inner shields, walls made thicker and firmer by his Ascension, by what Oma and the Others had shown him, if unwillingly. Sam called it compartmentalizing. Daniel called it sanity.

He carefully placed his personal fears and regrets back behind the thick walls with his worst memories. Familiar faces – loved and hated – peeked at him from the recesses; parents, wife, lover, soldiers, and spies, warriors of alien races and those who had hidden behind the faces of friends – he bent them back under his mental chains, whispering promises of 'soon, soon,' promises he'd made to himself many times before. Just a little time, just a little breathing room – just let me get to the end of this current crisis and I'll take you all out and examine you, process, deal with the deaths and abandonments … and the complete failures.

But not now. Never now.

He ran Rodney's quick lecture back through his mind, this time studying his friend's nuances, his particular choices of phrase and emphasis. "Wait a minute," Daniel raised one finger, catching what he had missed before. "You said, '_if_ this machine is actually capable of functioning safely.'" He raised his eyebrows, questioning.

"Yeah. That's the thing." Rodney gestured towards the portal into the other room. "Janus ran a three day test about ten thousand years ago and then shut the whole project down because of 'unforeseen side effects.'"

Weren't there always? Daniel nodded. "Which were …?"

Rodney's face crumpled into an unhappy grimace. "Well, it's not clear."

"Chalk up another one to the Ancients' fantastic record-keeping," Daniel blew out in frustration, one hand combing through his hair. He knew that the Ancients, the Ascended beings he'd brushed against out there in the universe, held bruisingly tight to their 'let them make their own mistakes, take their own path' mentality regardless of the consequences, noses held high, all noble and pure. It smacked of self-righteousness to him. You didn't allow a child to find out that being hit by a car hurt by letting him run out into traffic. He spun back towards Rodney. "Tell me you leave better notes than they did, Rodney? That future generations will clearly read your 'Don't Touch' and 'Don't Turn This On Unless You Like Fiery Armageddon' warnings when we're dead and gone."

Rodney cocked his head to one side, eyes squinting, and waved one hand back and forth. "Well …"

"Let me guess," Daniel sighed. "You wouldn't want anyone stealing your research, now would you?"

"No?" The man sounded more like a whiny child who'd just gotten his cookie-stealing hand smacked than a mature, experienced scientist. "Okay," Rodney quickly changed the subject, pointing towards the small box-like device their captors had hauled from Atlantis, "that's the key to the whole shebang. After the test, Janus brought it back to Atlantis with him but kept it connected to the main system here. One won't work without the other."

And we turned it on, Daniel reminded himself. Nope, he couldn't have left well enough alone, he had to run to the Pegasus galaxy and throw his weight around. A dry laugh escaped. He was just as much of a child as Rodney; insisting on his way, that his research was more important than anything else.

He rubbed at his aching forehead and glanced towards the locked doors of the lab. "Well, they seem pretty convinced that we can make this thing operational."

Rodney shrugged one shoulder. "That's because we probably can. I mean, we have everything we need here. The question is whether we should."

When you have to ask yourself that question, Daniel's inner voice whispered, then the answer is obvious.

Shifting his feet uneasily, Rodney looked away. "The last time I went down this road, I … I kinda destroyed a solar system."

Daniel planted his hands on his hips. "Did I not say big, HUGE warning signs?" He smiled at the way Rodney hung his head.

"So, what do we do?" Rodney asked.

Daniel straightened his shoulders. "We reason with them." Finally. This Daniel could do.

"Oh!"

He turned to see the honestly surprised expression on Doctor Rodney McKay's face.

"It's okay, Rod, I've been talking to people professionally for over twelve years now."

Rodney shuffled closer. "Does it work?"

That sick feeling in Daniel's gut squirmed and stretched. "Sometimes." And sometimes, quite spectacularly, not.

The doors to the lab slid open with no fanfare, no warning, catching Daniel and Rodney standing shoulder to shoulder facing them. Two armored figures stepped inside.

Show time.

oOo

Sheppard brushed at his shoulders and combed one hand through his hair as he strode down the corridor of the Daedalus, hurrying to catch the elevator doors before they closed on the lone startled airman clutching a clipboard inside. He ushered Zelenka in with an impatient movement before slapping an override code into the control panel.

"Sorry, Lieutenant. Going up."

"Perhaps I should go directly to the –"

Sheppard shook his head. "No, Radek. You can't hide with your computers and calculations yet." He singled the airman out with a raised chin. "Everyone's on the bridge, I take it? Ronon, Woolsey-"

"Yes, sir," the young man replied quickly. "And the Wraith commander."

"Todd?" Sheppard didn't bother to hide the disbelief in his voice. "Who the hell would invite Todd to …" he shook his head. "Never mind." Woolsey was still trying to butter up the Wraith, apparently. Yep, giving Todd all the inside information on this little … fiasco … was a brilliant idea. He turned back to Zelenka. "We need to get this ship moving and everyone briefed, in that order, and you'll probably have to explain the whole," he made a vague gesture in the air, "'following a subspace signal that isn't there anymore' thing again." He imagined Woolsey's blank, irritated face. "At least once."

He ignored the sotto voce mumbling. His own muscles were painfully tight, his gut churning – this 'chase scene' was going way too slow for his liking. He wanted to fire up the Daedalus' hyper drive and move it, get to Daniel and Rodney before their captors decided they weren't quite so useful after all – or before Rodney opened his mouth one too many times and got his head blown off. Explaining all this to Woolsey ad nauseum was not on his list of top ten ways to rescue missing teammates. Listening to him posture in front of Todd was even further down the list.

Maybe he could convince Ronon to accidentally lock Woolsey in a storage closet somewhere until this was over. A sick sliver of dread tracked slowly down his spine to lodge in his lower back like a black, festering tumor. This wasn't going to end well. Teeth gritted against that truth, Sheppard tried to reach for his usual levelheaded attitude and found himself half-turning to glance at the empty space to his left. Damn it.

Why was it always Rodney?

oOo

"Now, obviously you're excited about the possibility of ending the Wraiths' reign over this galaxy once and for all, but the reality is this device - this facility - was abandoned by its creator for a very good reason. See, uh, it doesn't work - at least, not safely." Daniel was running out of steam, repeating himself, flinging words and phrases at the unmoving, unresponsive armor shells that waited just inside the door. He gestured to Rodney beside him. "That's from what my friend can tell."

Smiling nervously, Rodney raised a hand to wave toward their captors. Nothing. Apparently metal-encased aliens were immune to the sincere, nerdy-scientist type. The alien figures continued to face Daniel as if listening, as if focused on every word, but the atmosphere within the lab was cold, disdainful. They were simply waiting him out, waiting for him to stop, to exhaust himself with meaningless words – that much was obvious. He tightened his lips. "Look, we share the same goal. Perhaps we have _many_ things in common."

_Talk to me, dammit. Say something._ _Argue. Tell me I'm wrong, tell me I don't understand, that I'm an unimportant pissant of a human, not worth the energy to take a breath. Tell me how superior you are, posture and preen like a Goa'uld or preach and threaten like a Prior - anything would be better than silence._ Daniel's anger was spiking, his own impatience coupled with the complete disregard of the aliens turning his words to smoke. Drifting away. Useless.

"Look, given the right amount of time, it's possible we could get the device to function safely," Daniel began again, "but we'd have to contact our people and bring in a much larger science team. See, I'm not _that_ kind of scientist." Not any kind of scientist needed here, his inner voice taunted him. He pointed at Rodney again, "And what my friend ..."

One armored figure turned its head away, looking towards Rodney. Daniel took a half-step forward, heart racing at – _finally_ – a reaction.

The metallic voice rang out loudly. "Get the device operational within one hour or I will kill him."

Daniel blinked at the armored hand, one finger pointed directly at his chest. Okay, he'd wanted a response. He took a breath, ready to make a new start, but the alien interrupted, still turned away from him, facing Rodney.

"Do you understand?" the voice prompted.

"Yes, I understand, yes," Rodney stammered.

"Wait-" Daniel tried. The doors slid open. The armored figures marched out. The doors closed. All before Daniel could finish that one single useless syllable. "What the _hell_-"

"Great plan, Danny! _Great_ plan!" Rodney was already turning towards the control panel, his face pale, eyes blazing with frustration. His hands hovered over the console.

"What are you doing?"

The scientist shook his head as if brushing off Daniel's question. Shoulders hunched, he traced dials and rehearsed control sequences, mumbling to himself.

Daniel moved closer, eyes drawn to the clear portal that separated them from what must be the guts of the device, his mind still caught up in the non-argument with the aliens. Why were they hiding? Why were they determined not to engage in any kind of communication with him? He wasn't worth the time of an argument or explanation, that was certain. Were they so alien that they had no common ground? No basis for intelligent dialogue? No, they were too similar, physically; they spoke English easily, were enough like humans to be threatened by the Wraith. He watched his friend idly, thoughts elsewhere, until he realized what Rodney was doing.

"Rod?"

He wouldn't turn, wouldn't look at him. "That main chamber houses the sub-space antenna," the scientist muttered.

Daniel understood. "It harnesses all that power and releases it as static into sub-space."

"Well, it _will_ once I light it up." Rodney's hand barely grazed one blinking control.

"What? You're already ready?" No. This wasn't right. They had to resist – do something to get the aliens' attention, force them to talk. Rodney couldn't -

Rodney finally faced him, angry, overwhelmed. "Well, it wasn't broken. Janus just shut it down. All we need is _that," _he pointedatthe device from the Atlantis lab, "a basic understanding of Janus' coding style and, here's where I come in again, the Ancient gene. I mean, we're ... we're ready to roll."

Daniel put one hand on his friend's wrist, the inevitable answer settling over him. "Rodney, you don't have to do this." 

"What? They're gonna kill you! We don't have a choice!" Rodney flung his hand away.

Daniel smiled. "Yes we do." 

_Survive and then escape_. Jack O'Neill's voice haunted the quiet spaces within Daniel's mind, surfacing whenever his thoughts stilled for a moment. Insistent. Bossy. Every nuance of movement and expression revived, blazing between the chinks in his armor. Daniel found himself facing off with Jack, building a scene from shreds of faulty memories around them, gold stone walls in a high narrow chamber. Jack was dressed in black, bloody rents telling a story of pain and misery, his face lined and strained; Daniel, pristine in soft wool, earnest and resolute. This one time, Jack had been the one to give up. No hope. No alternative.

And here Daniel was, facing that ultimate decision once again. He imagined Jack's obstinate face and filled in the light years of space between them with his arguments. What if the 'unforeseen side effects' of this weapon were worse than they could imagine? What if Daniel's survival meant condemning countless others to death? And what if being willing to die, to be killed rather than submit, was what finally got these … creatures … to talk? To look beyond themselves and their selfish motives and see the humans as beings with their own morals, their own lives and hopes and fears, and a determination that matched their own? Daniel had faced death before, had placed himself between people and their own fatal shortsightedness. This would not be the first time he'd made that choice.

Within that stone-walled cell, the steady image of Jack O'Neill shook his head. _'You're not a quitter, Daniel.'_

'_I am. I quit on our friendship,' _Daniel replied.

Jack's smile was crooked_. 'So, come back and fix it. You're gonna have to figure out how to live to do that, of course.'_

Daniel kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, wishing that this Jack was real, standing beside him, brushing shoulders as they used to do, just to remind the other that he wasn't alone. Never alone. A violent surge of indecision rocked him, reminded him of comforting words in an impatient scrawl folded safely against his breast, dredging up memories of a difficult friendship and hard victories that had only been won after months, _years_, of battle. Whether Jack was really there or just a fragment of memory deep within Daniel's soul, he knew, without one doubt, for sure and for certain that, if he did this, if he made this choice before they had a chance to talk as Jack's note had promised, Jack would never forgive him.

Making a brief, internal apology to the now livid figure of his friend, Daniel opened his eyes and leaned forward, spearing Rodney with a determined stare. "Look, if turning this thing on means a solar system is going to explode, then let's ... not." He didn't want to die, but the weight of another failure might be too much to bear, too much to live with.

And then Daniel quickly reared backwards, desperate to get out of range of a pissed-off, snarling Rodney McKay.

"Okay so I do nothing, they come in here, they kill you," McKay snapped out, sarcasm cutting. "Who gets killed next, huh? Me! And to tell you the truth here, I'm quite fond of me, so we might as well do it, you know, now, while you're still alive, as opposed to ... you know, _then_." His rant petered off to short syllables, biting and caustic, his frown turning from furious to coldly menacing.

Daniel smiled again. And then chuckled at the thought of Jack O'Neill and Rodney McKay standing shoulder to shoulder between Daniel Jackson and his determination to jump off the nearest cliff.

"All right." Maybe there was another way. _What do you think, Jack? _And maybe there was a loud _'hell, yea'_ inside somewhere in answer.

"All right?" Rodney repeated, a mixture of relief and shock flashing across his face at Daniel's easy surrender.

"All right." Daniel nodded.

"Okay." Rodney flipped the switch.

Inside the neighboring chamber, huge arcs of electricity snapped and surged, heating the air even beyond the thick glass, making the hairs on Daniel's arms stand straight up. He held his breath, waiting.

oOo

Blaring alarms, red flashing lights, the thud of booted feet on concrete – geez, Jack had sure missed all this. He stood in the control room, staring at the steaming, churning Stargate, hands in his pockets. According to Landry, Atlantis had dialed Earth fifteen minutes ago, but the wormhole had never connected. The lights had blinked a few times, superconductors slamming back and forth, and then circuits had cut out, frying every connection on base and reminding everyone that they were currently standing deep inside a mountain. A very dark mountain.

Emergency lights had kicked in and Jack had double-timed it down the steps to Level 28, instincts kicking him in the pants making his aching knees a distant memory. Unfortunately, answers were also pretty damn fleeting.

Atlantis had tried to dial in. Atlantis – where Daniel was. And now the Stargate wouldn't even attempt the eight-chevron address, as if the Pegasus Stargate had never been there at all.

"Busy signal?" he'd tried, looking down his nose at the small figure of the familiar Master Sergeant.

"No, sir," Harriman replied, straight faced. "Pegasus has call waiting, so, if their Stargate was in use, we'd get a particular signal which we … ah ..."

"Ah … are not getting," Jack finished for him. _Ha ha. Not in the mood, Airman. How'd you like to be posted to Elmendorf, tuning up Sno-Cats?_ He stared down into the 'Gate Room, eying the tall, dour figure stationed beside the 'gate with a hand-held scientific whatsis-detector. He leaned towards the microphone. "Siler?"

"Nothing wrong on this side, General. The problem must be in Atlantis."

Of course it was. Nothing could make Jack's gut churn like the sure and certain knowledge that crap was happening and he had absolutely no way to get out there and shoot it. Jack raised his eyes towards, well, towards NORAD.

Why was it always Daniel?


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Huge apologies. Yes, I intend to finish this story. Hopefully, within the week. Thank you thank you thank you for reading it and sending me encouragement!**

"A Moving Sea" Ch 15

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Two strides from the bridge, Sheppard hesitated, the angry tone of raised voices reaching out to him.

"What the hell happened?" That was Caldwell – the commander's demanding tone laced with shock.

Todd's feral growl overrode every other sound. "How did you do that?"

"How did we ...? Surely you don't think _we_ had anything to do ..." Woolsey's voice was thin with fear.

Sheppard gestured Zelenka back against the bulkhead and drew his sidearm, shifting noiselessly around the corner. All eyes were on the stark black and white figure of the Wraith standing with his back to the doorway, his hands tucked behind his back, two glowing energy canisters just sliding down from his sleeves into his clutching fingers.

"Do what?" Caldwell didn't flinch, didn't glance his way, his hard stare boring straight at the Wraith's face as Sheppard eased towards them.

"You tricked me," Todd insisted. "This was your plan all along. Somehow you found the Attero device."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Caldwell replied evenly, bending forward, one hand poised over the controls on the command chair.

Sheppard frowned, brushing off the unintelligible alien words, concentrating only on the threat. Todd was snarling, muscles clenching, his back expanding as if he was drawing breath and nerve and life force into place, charged and waiting for the chance to trigger an attack. His hands moved behind his back, white fingers like the talons of a predatory bird curled around the sickeningly yellow tubes. A weapon. Triggered and ready. Reaction rushed along Sheppard's nerves and he stood, squeezing off two rounds into the Wraith's left hand. The energy canister dropped to the deck, shattering with an angry snap, a flash of choking smoke, and the smell of sulphur. Motion erupted around the bridge, Ronon ducking under the Wraith's immediate charge to lock one arm around Todd's neck, his gun pressed to one temple.

"Now, why doesn't everybody just calm down and tell me what the _hell_ is going on," Sheppard panted, adrenaline shaking through him. "We do _not_ have time for this." One long step forward and he'd ripped the other energy tube from the Wraith's hand and shoved it behind him towards Zelenka.

Caldwell was standing now, hands on his hips. "Nice timing," he spat, eyes focused on the enemy. "So much for the Wraiths' 'friendly cooperation.' Marks – lock down the hangars, I want to know exactly where every single Wraith on this ship is, right now."

The airman's hands worked quickly. "Four in corridor C, Deck 6, three security teams have them pinned down. Three more are now caught between decks in the service hatchway behind bulkhead G-7 – I've closed off access from each end." The major raised a calm, determined face. "The rest are still in the hanger with their ship, sir."

"Good." Caldwell nodded, the news of his crew's efficiency and one deep breath steadying him. "To answer your question, Colonel, just after your Jumper landed, we received word that the Cruiser that had been left behind at our rendezvous point had tried to enter hyperspace and … exploded."

"Disintegrated," Todd growled, teeth bared. "As if you didn't know." He didn't struggle within Ronon's grasp, but Sheppard watched his hands open and close, hungry, yearning for a victim.

"Now, just a minute –"

Frowning, Sheppard spared a glance for the small, prickly figure of Woolsey he'd, so far, overlooked. One hand raised as if he could command anyone's attention, Atlantis' commander started to take one step forward, seemed to realize that would put him altogether too close to a slavering Wraith, and settled for rocking back and forth awkwardly. Sheppard turned away.

"Had your attack strategy all worked out, didn't ya." Ronon's gun dug deeper into the pasty skin stretched over Todd's skull. "Just waiting for an opening."

"Do not seek to lecture me, Satedan. This _farce_ of a _medical mission_," the words were harsher than curses in Todd's mouth, "only to draw us out, so that you could test out the Attero device. Kill us all – or worse, leave us to starve between the stars," the Wraith seethed and snarled. "Murderers! You have no room to judge."

"Look," Sheppard began, mind racing, "I think I can speak for all of us when I say I have no idea what you're talking about. What the hell is an 'Attero device,' and why is it destroying ships that enter hyperspace?" If they couldn't get the Daedalus into hyperspace they had no chance to trace McKay and Daniel, no way to get to them. His fingers curled around the grip of his weapon, unwilling to release it just yet, not when Todd was still so out of control.

Todd's eyes glittered with barely constrained fury. "_Wraith_ ships – only _Wraith_ ships that enter hyperspace."

"Really," Ronon muttered, eyebrows twitching in interest.

"You think I would not recognize it? That I was so young, so ignorant, that I would not remember how your precious 'Ancients' sought to desert us in the cold of space, to leave us to die of hunger, as ravenous – raving - skeletons?" Sheppard watched as Ronon gripped the Wraith tighter, holding him hard against his chest as Todd swept his gaze around the ship's bridge. "I see now why McKay is not with you – he did this, this so-called _scientist_. _He_ tamed the Attero's energy." Blood-red veins stark in the being's whitened eyes, the Wraith's unblinking stare struck straight through to Sheppard's soul. "Your _friend_ did this, Sheppard, even as the empty words of your 'statesman' offered us friendship."

Denial on the very tip of his tongue, Sheppard clenched his teeth hard, muscles locking. "Damn it," he muttered, fear and anger struggling deep in his belly. Pieces slotted together – Janus – a secret lab – abandoned experiments – a subspace signal – the disruption of hyperspace - a desperate strategy. He shoved his weapon into its holster and turned to Caldwell, his furious insistence piercing the ship commander's studied composure. "We need to get into hyperspace – now. Zelenka!" He didn't turn, heard the scientist rush in behind him, saw him bend over Marks, pointing out coordinates. "I'm betting that Todd here is right."

"What?" Woolsey did move forward this time, unconscious of the Wraith threat, hearing one too many statements that he couldn't explain, that wouldn't fit into his own neat view of Atlantis, McKay, and his ego-driven mission to make peace with Pegasus' greatest enemy. "I did not authorize any experiments like this! What has Doctor McKay been doing –" the bureaucrat's eyes widened. "This has something to do with Doctor Jackson's research, doesn't it? The man is a menace. I've said it before and I'll-"

Sheppard silenced him with one gesture. "Save it. And, yeah, I'm sure McKay and Daniel are in the thick of this, but only because they've been kidnapped – taken by some … beings … that swept through our shields as if they weren't even there. As if dealing with the Ancient's technology is really, _really_ old hat." The colonel turned away from Woolsey's pale, livid, features to face Caldwell. "Have Captain Robbins dial it up and head back to Atlantis. Whatever is going on here, they're going to need all the Jumpers in the air to protect the city in case these guys come back."

Caldwell didn't hesitate. "Marks."

"Yes, sir."

"Now," Sheppard turned back to the Wraith, "if you're done threatening – for the moment – I for one would like to know what we're up against here. And you seem to have the answers."

oOo

Daniel paced, his legendary patience and focus having deserted him. Resigned to Rodney's decision, resigned to survival – for the moment – at the expense of whatever 'unforeseen side effects' Janus' device would create, he tried for calm, for any hint of inner serenity that he remembered reaching so much more easily years ago. Age, distance, independence, the sum of his failures, the dissipation of his friendships – these had stripped him of restraint, of the ability to collect his fears and anxieties into a neat little ball and shove it back behind his mid-brain. Maybe he'd seen too much to believe in nice, easy endings, all the messy, ragged edges knit up together in a bow. When had that ever happened?

His circuit brought him back to stand by Rodney's side, staring at the thick lightning bolts that brightened the window opposite them with arrhythmic, unpredictable frequency. "Ten minutes and counting. Still no problem?"

Silence.

Adrenaline surged as Daniel turned and took in his friend's widened eyes, color draining away from his face. "Rod?"

"Oh boy."

"What? What is it?"

Mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a moment, Rodney pointed at the Ancient script scrolling across the view screen. "I think I just found a log entry that tells us what the side effect is."

Better to know, right? To know what was going to kill them? Daniel had thought so, had thought that turning the gut churning fear into words would take away some of the sting. The unexpected was always worse, isn't that what they said? A flash of memory stilled his unspooling thoughts, the sight of the creeping dread in Jack's eyes, the grief and horror building into anger as Daniel neatly repeated the symptoms of death by radiation poisoning that were waiting for him. It hadn't been better for Jack.

He found himself backing away from the console, eying it warily. "It's not harmful radiation, is it?" Yeah, once was definitely enough.

McKay winced. "No." A sick smile curved his lips. "No-no-no-no-no. You and I are safe."

Daniel nodded, strangely not comforted. If Rodney was scared …

"It's just the rest of the galaxy that's going to have problems, including Atlantis." He reached out, eyes narrowing. "I've gotta shut this thing down."

Scared and self-sacrificing, and suddenly not worrying about either Daniel's life or his own. Daniel could only watch as the scientist worked, torn between wanting him to hurry and needing him to explain.

The sound of the doors opening seemed inevitable; the two armored aliens' appearance definitely not a coincidence, not with one of them aiming his weapon directly at Rodney's back.

"Step away from the device."

Rodney never paused, never hesitated. In the moment before the alien fired his weapon, Daniel was proud of his friend's obstinate courage. And angry with himself for not watching the scientist's actions more closely so he could finish switching the damn thing off.

"Wait – wait – wait!" he stuttered, both hands raised as the weapon shifted to point at his chest. "There's a very dangerous, very serious problem with the device, and if I could just talk to –"

A rush of heat, a jagged, piercing shock, and the pain blacked out Daniel's vision and tumbled him to the floor.

oOo

The pieces were all the same, it was just their positions on the board that had shifted. The Wraith was still in play, but hemmed in by Ronon, weapon still drawn, still threatening, just over Todd's right shoulder, and, to its left, Sheppard, standing too close, vibrating with tension. King, Knight, Bishop, with Caldwell himself across the board, watching. Waiting. Stephen grimaced, wondering what Daniel would make of the current configuration, grimly hoping there was any kind of chess game in their future.

Caldwell kept his attention on the Wraith, hands at its sides, head held so high that the tendons in its neck stood out starkly against the flat black of its high collar. Anger still seethed beneath its cold, dead skin, a patient, long-burning rage that would stay banked until it sensed the slightest opening, any momentary flickering of their scrutiny. Whatever else the Wraith were, however inhuman, they had that much in common – threaten us, take our allies, our teammates – friends, if Wraith could use that word – and there would be a reckoning.

As poised and tense as the Wraith stood, Ronon was the perfect opposite. Dark eyes calm, the muscles of his face and body relaxed – almost bored-looking – the elbow of his weapon-hand propped carelessly against his body. Now why, at this utterly unearthly moment, was Caldwell reminded of Jack O'Neill? His mouth twitched. The steady hands, the air of calm control, the diamond-bit focus of a veteran soldier – yes, probably all of that plus the simple fact that bringing to mind Daniel Jackson always seemed to drag his military shadow into the light along with him.

Sheppard, on the other hand, was pissed. Thinking, acting, reacting – it blurred together to make it seem as if he was moving even when he was standing still. Still trying to get Todd to talk, Sheppard stood too close to the thing, in Caldwell's opinion, the dark shadows beneath Sheppard's eyes, his abrupt movements and the thin thread of anger beneath every word communicating his desperation for answers. Caldwell's gut twisted and writhed. _Get his people back_ – it screamed from the man's pores, his hands gripped so tightly on his hips they would no doubt leave a couple of bruises. A part of Caldwell's soul screamed with him.

But decisions had to be made here – explanations, theories, words fired into the air, messages sent and received before action. Gaze flicking to the braided warrior again, Caldwell allowed himself a moment of relief, a nod of approval. Beyond all the rest of them, Ronon simply would not be distracted from the immediate threat. Good. There were enough distractions right now – they were piling up thick and fast all around them.

"Sir, message coming in from Captain Robbins at the Space 'Gate."

Sheppard turned, brow creasing. Caldwell jerked his chin towards the airman.

"On speaker, Major."

"Robbins to Daedalus, come in please."

Tension. Fear. Caldwell sought out Sheppard's gaze. "Caldwell here. Report, Captain."

"Sir, something's happening with the 'gate…"

Distractions. Complications. Caldwell huffed a breath. "Can you be more specific, Captain?"

"We dialed Atlantis, sir, as ordered, but could not make a connection. Repeat, the Atlantis 'gate would not connect. I then dialed up S85-224, the closest Space 'Gate to Atlantis, just to see if the problem was on our side, and now … my readings are … there's some kind of power build-up …"

Muttered orders, voices raised in question, in response, hovered in the air behind Robbins' message. Caldwell frowned. First the Wraith Cruiser is destroyed, and now, this. What the hell –

The slightest shift in movement, a ripple that shivered down the length of the Wraith's black coat drew his attention. As he watched, Todd's eyes fell half-closed. And then the thing smiled.

Sheppard was the first to speak. "What's going on, Todd?"

"Perhaps your _scientist_ is not quite as brilliant as he believes." It crossed its long arms, tense, rage-fueled bristling changed quickly to satisfaction, its mouth open, its slight smile of pleasure as if tasting the air … savoring.

Caldwell stabbed at his console. "Robbins! Get out of there – move, Captain! Best possible speed away from the 'gate!"

The laughter started low, a mere hum of background sound, growing louder and thicker until it curdled within him, mixing with Robbins' hurried acknowledgment, the whine of energy build-up too clear through the speakers. A noisy chaos of sound.

And then it all stopped. One crack, the rattle of deck plates beneath their feet, and the Jumper's voices were silent, leaving only the pure gratification of Todd's rumbling laugh, until, that too, was swallowed in a flash of light from a Satedan energy weapon.


	16. Chapter 16

A Moving Sea Ch 16

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Radiation. He watched as his hand burned, fingers blackening, streams of yellow pus curling from tiny fissures in his skin until it was gone … gone … nothing but the bleached white of bone poking through a red, pulsing mass of tissue. He turned his arm back and forth, watching, the bones of his fingers wiggling, scraping against each other. And then the white thickened, broadened, painted on new flesh, pale and dead, cut with patterns of Ancient design, sigils and devices that played at superstition, at arcane rites and rituals, but had been planned and guided by scientific minds that never seemed to get it right.

"Daniel. Come on."

Daniel. This was a part of him. A part of him that turned to look; curious, responsive, optimistic. Hopeful. The part that wanted to know, that thrilled to learn, that never gave up.

But it was just a part. And, even as that part strained to look, to study, opened its mouth to answer, others writhed and tumbled, argued and growled; distracting, denying, refusing to see. Mean petty fragments. Bloody, wounded remnants. Crying children. Utterly exhausted portions of his soul.

One was dressed in soft blue robes and sat alone within a tent, staring at a candle flame. Afraid. Doubting. Another wore a different face – Ancient and venerable – and buried him in knowledge and plans, stripping him of human connections so that he could burn new pathways in his brain, new channels of power and force. One was pale – pasty – the white, carved hand belonged to him. Reveling in power and yet fighting every moment to hold back the fire that threatened to consume his soul.

One – long-haired, wearing sandals and surrounded by the spice of the desert – watched, horrified, as his wife was stolen, raped, destroyed. As her son drifted away, dwindling, on streams of light.

"Oh for – Daniel! … all your fault … refuse to stand here … myself!"

The voice whined and demanded and the Daniel-part of him smiled. Rodney. Brusque and sardonic and familiar.

Memory rushed in and scattered all the selves within him, shaking them around like dice in a cup. Machello. Urgo. Nem. Still there, within his mind, tattered leftovers that caught at him, startled him sometimes. Sha're and Shifu, Oma and Ganos Lal – better intentioned; those invasions through hand device or the Ascended merging of psyches were warmer, sweeter. Sweeter than Adria's jagged lash burning beneath his skin, than Merlin's overwhelming power, or the Doci's relentless torture.

Carlin stands there, arms crossed, watching Daniel's life as if waiting to awaken from a dream. Apophis smiles and fills a cup with the Blood of Sokar. Jarren, Yu's faithful lo'taur, frowns and shakes his head. And, fully formed within his memories, Osiris smiles through Sarah Gardner's eyes.

His hand, alive now, pink and warm and human, grips the handle of a gun as Anubis takes him, uses him, wears him for a time, carelessly hurting others who stand in his way. The blue eyes of a friend hold him in place as the inhuman replicator gouges out his memories with a blade as sharp as steel.

All the passengers of the ship from Talthus – the Sovereign and Tryon and small voiced Keenan and their friends - mutter and murmur and jostle one another for place.

It's no wonder that the Daniel-part can hardly find his way to the surface through the crowds.

"Fine. Leave me here alone. Not like you were much use, anyway." Footsteps carried the familiar voice away and Daniel found himself blinking heavy eyelids to search it out – to call it back.

"Rod-"

A dramatic sigh. A pale face stared at him, Rodney's gaze shifting back and forth, his mouth in a grim line. "Finally."

Daniel pushed himself up onto one elbow. His limbs vibrated, tremors shaking him, and he would have fallen if Rodney hadn't been quick to reach out and steady him. "What-?"

"Yeah, those guns are a bitch." Rodney stayed, crouching, at his side until Daniel could focus. Until he recognized himself again. He leaned his head back against the wall and searched the small room for something … something they'd been doing before …

"Where …"

Rodney slapped his hands down on his knees. "Yep – they've moved us. Didn't want us touching their precious Doomsday Machine."

Daniel closed his eyes, frowning fiercely, trying to regain control of thoughts that spun off into the ether. He counted to ten in Abydonian, Unas, Russian, Mandarin, Ri'chene, and Sumerian. Blinking, he watched Rodney erupt into furious pacing and nearly took another header to the deck before he steadied. Both hands braced on the floor, he followed his friend's course and swallowed bile before struggling to speak.

"Rodney? Can you stop that? Please?"

"No. No, I can't. Just – just close your eyes if it bothers you that much."

"Oookay." Daniel took a moment. And another. Finding all of himself basically back where it belonged, he took a deep a breath and tried for logic.

"Explain what you figured out, Rodney."

The scientist was still muttering, hands gesturing.

"Rod!"

"What!"

"Words," Daniel suggested. "Use them." That Daniel-part within him smiled. Huh. He remembered how to do that, then.

"Fine." The pacing slowed, as if the combination of words and movement together could bleed off enough of McKay's nervous energy. "All right. So the device creates a very specific sub-space turbulence that makes it impossible for the Wraith to operate their hyperdrive."

"You said that already."

"But there's a side effect."

Daniel got a choke-hold on his frayed temper – standing up to get one on his friend's throat wasn't an option just now. "Yes, the 'unforeseen' one that Janus mentioned."

Rodney's eyes were wide, dread piling up behind them. "Yeah, well, something not seen here because there's no Stargate on this planet," he murmured.

"What's the _point_, Rodney?" Daniel erupted.

The scientist faced him, fists clenched, anger and fear making his voice thick with sarcasm. "Look, although the sub-space turbulence only affects the Wraiths' hyperdrive systems, it creates a very dangerous type of radiation that, uh ... well, that messes with the basic operation of the Stargates."

Daniel listened beyond the nasty, scathing tone, watched the self-reproach slowly crawl across Rodney's expression. "Star_gates_? What, as in _all_of them?" What could possibly …

"Well, all of the Stargates in the Pegasus network, yes."

Thousands of Stargates across millions of light-years. And entire galaxy of Stargates. What had Janus done? Daniel cleared his throat. "And when you say 'messes with,' you mean what?"

Rodney's gaze slipped away from him, as if he couldn't face Daniel with the actual facts. Or, as if he couldn't take too close a look at his own words. "Look, when dialled, power will build up inside the 'Gate until it overloads."

Energy cracked, connections burst, sparking, acrid smoke like a heavy fog in the 'Gate room. Siler's lanky form was flung like a twisted doll, coming to rest at the base of the wall. The DHD that Daniel had borrowed, negotiated for, argued and cajoled and promised everything he could think of to the Russians for crackled, one loud bang and it was broken down the center, electricity following a path straight down the ramp to blow its crystals into shards. Connectors dangled limply over the inactive 'Gate. The sick feeling in Daniel's gut was back – and expanding geometrically.

He pushed himself to his feet, leaning back into the cold, metal wall. "So you're saying that as long as this Janus device is running, every time someone dials a 'Gate in the entire galaxy ..."

" ... it'll explode. I mean, millions of people will die if we don't shut that thing down."

Including everyone on Atlantis.

That cold knot within Daniel, the aching emptiness in his gut that had moved him from Colorado Springs, to Washington, to the Daedalus suddenly expanded, bursting to life and searing along long-unused nerves. The deep well of urgency, of the need to work and talk and _insist_ that, no matter what, he must speak for those with no voice, for those subjugated by evil – whether the Goa'uld or the Ori or the evil bad-guy of the week – wasn't gone. No, not gone, not erased by time and hurt and loneliness. That Daniel-part was still alive in there. And it was – right now, right here, by God – going to be heard.

He stood, back against the wall, and raised his face to – he hoped – their unseen audience. Voice calm and steady, persistent and relentless, Daniel spoke.

"Listen to me. You knew what this device would do – you knew why the Ancients shut it down, why they didn't use it to destroy the Wraith when they had the chance." He took a breath and tried to slow down, to enunciate clearly and effectively.

"Daniel-"

"Not now, Rodney," he snapped. "_This_ is the kind of scientist I am."

"Okay, but, I'm just saying …" his words dropped away to muttering.

Daniel braced himself again – he wouldn't allow the dizziness, the dread, or his own failings to stop him. "The Ancients didn't have a surge of conscience, didn't worry about abandoning countless Wraith to wither and die in the cold of space. But they would not – could not – murder millions and millions of humans to do it. In order to 'save them' from the Wraith." His eyes searched the ceiling, the walls, for microphones, for view screens – anything. "That's what you're doing. You're slaughtering millions to win a war, millions who are _on your side_."

Silence beat back at him from the empty room. Built up moment by moment into a thick, swollen barrier between Daniel's intent and the aliens' ears.

"Listen to me, please," he shouted. He'd shout until he was hoarse, until they listened – or came to silence him. Doubts and despair were all well and good when you had time to think, when you sat alone in a cold house remembering the lure of better days and warmer friendships. They'd still be there when he and Rodney escaped – were rescued – when these beings were stopped. If there was one thing Daniel had learned after all these years with the SGC it was that guilt and sorrow would wait. They were patient. Interminable.

"My friend and I never intended to use this device. But we understand – we get it. We know what desperation feels like." Daniel tightened his lips, fueling his words with every scrap of self-loathing, every shard of hurt lodged in his conscience. Each prior's cry of sorrow. Every innocent face lost, torn from Daniel's hands. "We've made some mistakes of our own in our struggles, a lot of them – cut some corners and compromised our ethics. And we've asked ourselves, afterward, we asked what exactly did we win?" So many gone – so many dead. "The Ancients were wrong. That's why they _turned it off_."

"Yes! Yes!" Rodney was suddenly at his side, one arm sliding around Daniel's shoulders to shore him up. "We have to turn it off. I'm happy to do that. Just let us back into the room with the control console and we'll take care of it."

"Please," Daniel continued. "Our friends – our families – are dying out there. You're condemning millions to death – not just the Wraith. You'll destroy entire worlds, whole populations."

"Solar systems!" Rodney added.

"You can't want that! Would you destroy the entire galaxy – including yourselves – to end the Wraith? Why? For what purpose?" He shook his head. "I've seen civilizations fall, I've spent my entire life studying them, looking for the reasons why one culture disappeared while another survived. Romans, Visogoths, Arkaddians from Earth, Reol, Tollan, Asgard from the Milky Way galaxy – so many lost! Don't condemn the humans from this galaxy to the same fate!"

"Please – there's an entire unexplored lab back on Atlantis. Probably a lot more," Rodney admitted. "There must be another way!"

They waited.

"Not that I have a clue what it would be…" Rodney couldn't seem to help himself.

Daniel sent a narrow, quelling look in the other man's direction. "Please, just listen. Just let me talk with you, one on one." He held out both hands. "You have nothing to fear from me, you know I can't do a thing to stop you." Drawing his shoulders straight, Daniel cocked his head. Of course they weren't listening. Of course they were refusing communication. Alien or not, he understood now. Nodding to himself he touched one hand to his jacket, feeling the crinkle of the scrawled message within.

"Or are you just afraid to listen? Afraid that I might change your mind?" He took a step away from Rodney's comforting arm and aimed every missile in his verbal arsenal for whatever hidden sensor was picking up his voice. "That's it, isn't it? You don't _want_ to listen. You don't _want_ to be reminded of all the people you are killing right this moment. You've made up your minds to do this – to take this path – and you do not want to hear anything that might make you second guess yourselves. Not even the truth."

The doors to their 'cell' slid open to reveal two armored figures. One pointed at Daniel.

"You – come with me."

Rodney shuffled forward, standing alongside Daniel, shoulder to shoulder. "Why?"

The being pulled out his weapon and aimed it at Daniel's chest.

"Hey!"

"Whoa!" Daniel breathed. "Okay! I'm coming."

Rodney leaned closer. "We'll both come."

"No – only you."

Good. This was good, Daniel told himself. They had been listening. Something that Daniel had said had gotten through. His heart beat quickly, blood rushed through his veins. He took a step forward and was gratified to see that he didn't falter or stumble. Time to talk – to convince them – to start that dialogue he'd been hoping for. He could tell them all about his failures – all those weights that bore him down, that had sent him scrambling for a new home, new adventures, a new family. The things that had made him desperate. He had a feeling they'd relate to desperation.

"So, I'll just wait here, then. For you to come back."

Daniel turned and quirked a half-smile at his friend. "And I'll be back."

"Good. Good. That's g-"

The door slid shut between them and cut off Rodney's last word.


	17. Chapter 17

A Moving Sea Ch 17

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

"I have to admit: in a way I'm impressed. I was there ten thousand years ago when the Ancients first tried to use it, but they didn't have the stomach to leave it on once they realized how many of their precious Stargates it would destroy - how many humans it would kill." Todd's grin was feral, knife-edged. "You are more bloodthirsty than even I gave you credit for, Sheppard."

John didn't answer – couldn't answer with anything short of violence, short of pulling his weapon and piling up shot after shot between Todd's eyes. His mind was tripping over facts, slamming together strategies that were almost immediately ripped away by the spinning, speeding events. Woolsey's self-important stammering behind Caldwell's command chair, Keller's pale dread, robbed of her expertise, her very reason for being out here barely remembered – those two he erased from thought, would have ordered them below and out of the way if he had the authority. He might not be as bloodthirsty as Todd painted him, but there had already been enough spilled on the Atlantis side of the equation – it was time for some balance. And he was willing to carve information out of Todd's dead skull if that's what it took to make a dent in the enemy and get his people back.

His hands gripping his belt until it was nearly doubled, Sheppard turned his eyes to Marks, to Caldwell's restrained fury, hoping for a different answer than the one he knew was coming.

"Sir, the readings … they're off the charts."

"Meaning?" The Daedalus' commander's voice was hoarse, as if weary of some kind of internal shouting. John could relate.

"I'm scanning the debris, sir, but it looks like a total loss – of the Stargate as well as the Jumper."

"And her crew."

Marks' throat moved. "Yes, sir."

Caldwell's gaze caught and held Sheppard, grim and resolute. "What are the odds that this – what's it called?"

"Attero device," Zelenka supplied hurriedly, crouched over the hyper drive control station.

"That this Attero device is at the other end of the subspace link that was opened when Daniel and Doctor McKay went into that lab?" Caldwell's eyes narrowed at the Wraith. "That whatever beings carried them off knew exactly what it would do?"

Of course. Janus. The Ancients' problem child – with more arrogance than McKay and a greater penchant for getting into trouble than Jackson, Sheppard thought.

Zelenka fidgeted, adjusting his glasses before peering over them at the commander. "I'd say it's very likely. And that _that_ is exactly what we will find on M6H-987, along with Doctors Jackson and McKay."

"It must be a weapon that Janus developed during the Wraith wars." Ronon seemed almost pleased. "Good idea."

"Yes, but piss poor execution if it blows up Stargates," Sheppard shot right back.

"Colonel Sheppard – I must insist on a full report." Woolsey's mouth opened and closed like a frog after flies. "Exactly what happened on Atlantis? How did Doctor Jackson's research lead us to this … this catastrophe?"

Sheppard gave himself a moment – one heartbeat – to smother his automatic response. Then he faced the bureaucrat, aiming all of his pent-up frustration straight at the man's chest. "We don't have time for this – for reports or posturing or the kind of finger-pointing you seem to get such a kick out of." He didn't bother glancing at Caldwell. "Colonel? I think the bridge is getting crowded. And we need to make some damned quick _military_ decisions."

"Airmen!"

Two armed uniforms hustled forward at their commander's bark.

"Escort Mister Woolsey and Doctor Keller below. Where they'll be safe," he tacked on casually, "out of the – out of _harm's_ way if the Wraith get loose again."

Woolsey's face was bright red. "Colonel! This is highly irregular!"

"It sure as hell is," Sheppard muttered, turning his back on the 'diplomatic' sideshow now exiting stage right. Everything about this was irregular. Later - he'd think about how much Woolsey's animosity towards Daniel Jackson and his insistence on the pursuit of this supposed Wraith cure had added to this freaking disaster later. Time was getting away from him.

He turned back to Todd, facing the Wraith eye to eye. "We didn't do this, Todd," he spat. "McKay and Jackson found a lab – McKay's gene turned everything on. Then these armored things came in and stole the whole shebang." He gestured towards the view screen as if the wreckage of the Jumper and the bodies of his men were splattered across its width. "You don't think we'd kill our own people on purpose, do you?"

He watched the rapid-fire thoughts behind Todd's flat stare, watched the evidence fall into place and the doubt build until it tore one tiny hole his utter certainty. "You have been foolish before," the words were growling, accusing, "believed yourselves unassailable, that you would be undefeated because of your very righteousness."

Sheppard held up one hand when the others' mutterings grew up around him. He was having enough trouble reining in his own anger, thanks very much. "Yes. We've made mistakes. But there's no way that we would do this. Hell, we're in the middle of negotiations to –"

"Yes, yes, a shrewd move." Todd surged forward, inhumanly fast, but Ronon was faster and dragged him backward with one large hand tight – crushingly tight - on his shoulder. The Wraith wasn't cowed, didn't miss a breath. "A trap - designed to keep me here, under your watching eye, so that you could see the device in action."

"Stop." Sheppard walked forward, ignoring Ronon's glower. He stepped up to the Wraith general and placed one hand flat on his chest in an unsubtle mockery of a Wraith's arrogant – predatory - feeding posture. "Listen. We've both lost men, here. Neither of us can get home – in fact," he breathed deeply, admitting it to himself for the first time, "for us, there might not be a home to go to." Robbins couldn't connect with Atlantis. Stargates were blowing up. _Blowing up_. "This ship is the only way we have to get to the planet where this device is located – where our teammates are being held. Your ships can't get into hyperspace – this ship can."

The Wraith held perfectly still, with no twitch of muscle or shift of weight. He could have attacked – he could have one hand raised and fastened onto Sheppard's chest before Ronon could shoot or John could step backward. But he didn't.

"You would take us there?"

"Yes," Sheppard hissed, ready – so ready – for this to be over. "Now – right now. And, as long as you follow our orders, we'll expect you and your ship and crew down in the landing bay, to join in the fight to rescue our men and destroy that damned device once and for all."

He counted heartbeats while Todd weighed his offer – too many pounded past before the Wraith tilted his head to one side in agreement. "You speak for your people?"

"I do." This wasn't some committee meeting. This was life and death. The decision was made – Caldwell would back him, one military man to the other. No one was going to be God damned left behind.

"You pledge to destroy it."

"We do."

"Then I would demand just one more thing, Colonel Sheppard."

Sheppard dropped his hand and slid it into his pocket, trying to, unobtrusively, wipe the cold sweat on his palm away. "What's that?"

"That you keep your _Mister Woolsey_ and his preening speeches away from me for the duration of this … voyage."

Sheppard closed his eyes and nodded. "Hell, Todd, I second the motion."

oOo

The suited alien pressed Daniel forward, steering him through doors that slid open at their approach. He frowned, taking in the control panel spread out on either side of a view screen that diagrammed a huge expanse of space. One figure stood, his back to Daniel, hands busy with controls, its visored face lifting now and then to peer at streams of alien language.

Language …

The screen blanked out abruptly, as if aware of Daniel's scrutiny, of his near recognition of the shapes and patterns spread out before him. But, that couldn't be right …

"You wished to speak with me."

The voice was garbled by electronics, by the apparatus of the armored suit. Daniel set his mind to work at the tiny clues, to carefully brush the dust from the few scraps and fragments that were all the aliens had let slip. This conversation was important – as important as any negotiation he'd been a part of before.

"You're the leader?" The suit still faced him, expressionless, unmoving. Question answered, then. He clasped his hands before him as if in penitence. "You need to shut this device down immediately."

"No, I do not."

_Do not_. English speaking – precise words chosen to relay information with no added flourishes, no descriptors, no contractions. What it said was – literally – true.

"Okay," Daniel nodded, allowing the alien the point. "Look, I understand wanting to destroy the Wraith, _I do_. But, this isn't the way." Had it been listening to his hurried shouting back with Rodney? Did it already know what he was going to say? Then why this confrontation?

"I disagree."

Well, of course. Daniel shook his head. Immediacy – urgency – the fact that ignorant humans were out there dialing their Stargates as if it was any other day, and _dying_ – by the _millions_ – made him stammer out nonsense, unappealing demands that were easily countered by his opponent. If it didn't want to talk, didn't want something of Daniel, it could have left him and Rodney to stew in their cell until – well, forever. Obviously, killing humans was not any deterrent to its strategies.

_What do you want? _He wanted to shout at it.

Instead, he took a deep breath and steadied himself, eyes slitted to regard the motionless figure, mind churning out possible tactics, approaches. What had he said back in the cell that had prompted this meeting?

"Okay, by now I know you're aware that this device has a serious side effect. That it makes Stargates explode when they're activated."

"We do not use the Stargates."

They don't - no Stargate on this world, wherever this was. No Stargate, no way to explore or contact others without ships, ships with some damned advanced hyper drive capabilities.

"But lots of other people _do_," Daniel insisted, ignoring a growing dread, a hot flush that crept up his neck. It tasted like acid on his tongue, felt like a hand gripping the back of his neck, a strong, steady pressure that wanted him to turn, to see, to recognize …

"They are of no concern to us."

These beings did not venture out beyond their solar system's borders. They were hiding. Isolated. It's why Rodney hadn't recognized them, why Atlantis didn't know there were aliens that could slice through the city's shields and walk off with anything – anyone – they wanted.

Isolation. Standing aloof from all others. They'd been isolated for so long that they recognized a ten thousand year old device and didn't give a rat's ass about the death of countless human beings. Looking at life as if it breezed past them on a view screen focused in the remote distance – or along crowded hallways just outside your own door - while they stood somewhere on the sidelines, alone. Somehow above it all. Or beneath. Outsider – unattached.

Daniel gritted his teeth and chewed on the realization, and swallowed guilt and pride and stupidity. These beings, hiding out here beyond the busy life of others, taking matters into their own hands to gain some semblance of peace, of security – they were like him.

He couldn't help it. The laughter took him by surprise, choked him, tears blinding him to the alien's composed resolution. It bubbled for a moment before it died away and left him cold. Shivering. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're just going to let them die – millions of people across this galaxy." Not a question. Their intentions were more than obvious. The being didn't even bother to respond.

Nodding, Daniel screwed up his control, tightened down his own responses and got on with it. Did what he had to do. If these past few days could finally get through his own stubborn self-indulgence, whatever depressive, selfish bender he'd been on, maybe something could cut through this being's utter assurance of its path.

"You're no better than the Wraith. In fact," Daniel added evenly, "you're worse. You'd kill both Wraith and human with equal abandon, all in the name of – what?"

"In the name of survival, Daniel Jackson."

Huh. "Trust me when I say that turning your back on allies – on friends – in order to protect yourselves," he huffed a laugh, "that isn't survival."

The being shifted, as if it would have bent its neck if the armor allowed that motion. More bells went off in Daniel's memory.

"We have little choice. Our planet is dying. It can no longer sustain us. For the first time in countless generations, we must venture out into this galaxy again - a galaxy controlled by the Wraith. If we do not destroy them, they will destroy _us_. This is the way it must be."

"No, it's not." _It's not_; voices of friends – allies – family, echoed in Daniel's mind. "Let us help you find another way." He took a step forward, away from the guard still standing behind him. "It's what you want, isn't it? You want me to help you find another solution. If you didn't, you wouldn't be talking to me now. You wouldn't have started this conversation."

The armored suit moved, turning away, standing now before the empty view screen. But Daniel couldn't stop. Layers of truth unraveled within him, revealing motives and intentions that he was ashamed to see – it hurt, burned and ached as if it sliced away thick armor plates from his own skin. _'Let there be truth between us.'_ About time he started taking his own advice.

"What is it you're so afraid of, standing there in your battle armor? I can't hurt you, not physically, that's obvious."

Silence wouldn't hold him – not this time. Not Jack's, not his own, and certainly not this alien's. Why had he been wallowing in it for so long when he knew – he _knew_ that words, communication, was his _life_?

"You're not human, and you're definitely not Wraith. And if you were an Ancient, you wouldn't have needed our help to activate the device, so what are you?"

A soft ratcheting sound drew his attention to the back of the armor. A dark line formed and thickened, sweeping down the length of the back, dividing to shoot down each leg. The armored suit was opening, peeling away almost soundlessly, revealing grey skin, a frail, too slender figure, a large, misshapen head.

It stepped down and turned to face him, large eyes blinking.

An Asgard.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Good intentions aside, health and real life concerns (not to mention ffiction's weirdness) have kept me away from my computer this past week. Hopefully, this week will see many more chapters posted. Thank you for hanging in there, reading, commenting, and favoriting – it makes a huge difference. Oh, and anyone who notices a 'homage' to a certain space captain from another franchise gets extra cookies.**

A Moving Sea Ch 18

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

"You're Asgard." From the stilted language to the brief glimpse of rune-like characters on the view screen, Daniel was barely surprised. His unconscious mind had worked far forward of his thoughts, as usual, and was now crooking its eyebrow at him chanting 'I told ya so' in a voice with suspiciously Minnesotan overtones.

Just a few days ago – wasn't it? - he and Stephen Caldwell had been talking about the Asgard. About their inherent superiority, their unaffected stares, and, at the last, the utter nobility of their sacrifice. The being in front of him now could claim two out of three, but something told him 'nobility' and 'sacrifice' were no longer in these Asgards' vocabulary.

The being nodded, lights gleaming from the small electronic device attached above one eye, and the bar of metal fixed to its narrow chest. "You've encountered our kind before."

So, _that_ was the reason. During his loud rant in the cell with Rodney, Daniel had spooled off a list of races they'd encountered, listing off races that had … that had died.

"No, not just encountered," he insisted. "I've worked with them, even called a few of them my friends."

"Indeed." Unaffected. Unswayed by claims of friendship or connection.

Daniel seethed – to find remnants of a civilization that he'd thought lost, to find cousins and grandsons and distant relations of beings who had become a part of his world, of his foundation for the universe, should be a happy experience, an unlooked for reunion, not a stand-off over the bodies of millions of humans in the Pegasus galaxy.

Daniel let his anger soak down into his words, weighing them with accusation. "Of course the Asgard I knew were a noble race who actually helped the human population of our galaxy."

The being before him cocked his head. "And where are they now?"

"Dead," Daniel answered back. "But in that death that were unafraid. They took risks and placed themselves between powerful evils and those who could not possibly survive against them." Hands clenched at his sides, Daniel stepped forward, aiming his words with skill and proficiency. "They did not hide in the corner; they did not hold their own lives so dear that they'd watch millions of others suffer when they could lend a hand."

The Asgard stared up into Daniel's eyes. "They died saving you."

"No!" He swallowed the sorrow and the guilt. Thor, Heimdall, Freyr – they wouldn't thank Daniel for placing their bodies on the pyre of his self-immolation. "Against the Replicators, the Goa'uld, the Ori – the Asgard didn't fight because of me, because of any human. They fought because it was the right thing to do. And because they knew their time was limited." How long ago had these beings split off from their kindred? Their bodies looked almost identical, but perhaps they didn't share the same fatal reproductive cycle of the Milky Way Asgard. "They were clones – "

"Yes, as are we. Subject to the same law of diminishing returns and genetic degradation." The Asgard blinked, still staring, still unmoved. "And yet, by removing ourselves from the distractions of our home galaxy, from these interconnections you deem so important, we have solved many of the problems of our existence." He raised both arms out to the side. "_We_ are very much alive."

Superiority he'd felt from the Asgard before – some had treated them like children, some like particularly stupid – but endearing - adults – but he'd never witnessed this blatant, icy contempt. It rocked him backwards, scattered the arguments he'd stacked up neatly in mental rows. Daniel shook his head as if to shuffle them back into some kind of order.

The Asgard began to move, slowly circling as if examining a dangerous specimen, an unknown quantity that might just have teeth and be willing to use them. "We have not entirely solved the problem, but once we were able to conduct our research without interference, we made significant progress."

"You mean you came here to work where no one would bother you with silly little things like 'morals' or 'ethics' – where no one would notice when you turned your back on everything that made the Asgard one of the four great races?" Daniel had met one particular Asgard that could have fit in here perfectly. "I take it back – I did meet one Asgard as self-involved as you appear to be. His name was Loki. The Asgard High Council shut down his 'experiments.'"

A slight smile turned up the corners of the Asgard's narrow mouth. "Because they did not believe that the ends justify the means."

"Exactly," Daniel shot back.

"And now they are dead."

Daniel stopped. He stopped turning in place to keep his captor within his sight. He unclenched his muscles, twisting his neck to relieve the ache, and closed his eyes. The slight-bodied alien shuffled behind him and then hesitated there a moment, as if hoping for some kind of knee-jerk reaction. A cat and mouse play – predator and prey. Daniel would expect something like this from Ba'al or Adria. That it was an Asgard threatening him – posturing and baiting him while innocents dialed their Stargates and were obliterated - he sighed. How far this great race had fallen.

Eyes open now, in every way, Daniel's voice was low, stripped of emotion. He wouldn't perform for this … this inhuman thing. He wouldn't stamp his foot and shout his disgust and disbelief into the air for its amusement. He was done with drama. Facing forward, arms dangling at his sides, Daniel spoke. "The Asgard of my galaxy might be dead, but, during their long lives, up until the very end, until they'd made that final decision to remove their technology from the hands of the enemy, they were far more alive than you will ever be."

oOo

"How long, Mister Marks?" Caldwell leaned back in his chair – again. Time after time he found himself settled on its edge, crouched, as if willing the ship to move faster, to chew up the distance between the Daedalus and their missing men by his own forward momentum.

The navigator kept his eyes on his readouts. "Doctor Zelenka has managed to coax some more power out of the hyperdrive engines, sir, but –"

"I don't like 'buts,' Airman."

"Yes, sir." Marks nodded once. "But the stress on the hull is high. If she holds together, we're looking at another 90 minutes, minimum."

"And, if _she_ does not?"

Caldwell flicked his gaze up towards the Wraith. "She will. She'll make it." _'You hear that? Hold together,'_ he sent down through the deck plates beneath his feet. They seemed to shiver in response.

Sheppard stood, arms crossed, at the Wraith's side. "What's the plan when we get there?"

"That depends on your buddy, here," Caldwell jerked his chin towards Todd. "If we can trust him to follow our lead and keep him from firing on this supposed lab until we get our people out, two targets in the sky would make our attack a little more convincing."

The flat white face gave away nothing. "If, as you say, these beings were able to avoid all of the Ancients' defense mechanisms in Atlantis, your ship's weapons may have little effect."

"I'm pretty sure a couple of drones would take care of just about anything," Caldwell drawled. He tilted his head to the side and measured Todd up and down with a penetrating gaze. "Didn't take many to take out your best ships." Yeah, and if Todd took that as a threat just in case he decided to double cross them – again – once his ship was free of the Daedalus, well, then he'd be right, wouldn't he?

"Since these new guys apparently want to obliterate the Wraith, no matter the cost," Sheppard began evenly, "having your Cruiser in the space above their outpost, lab, whatever, would probably get their attention pretty damn quick. I mean," he shrugged, "how could it have gotten there when this Attero device means no Wraith ship can use its hyperdrive?"

Todd nodded. "I see. It would, indeed, take them by surprise." The shark's smile was back. "I find that idea quite compelling."

Using the Wraith ship as a distraction? Caldwell found it mighty compelling himself. "We'll drop out of hyperspace just outside their system and you can launch your Cruiser. We'll make another short hop and aim for coming out of hyperspace on the far side of the planet while you … get their attention."

Sheppard raised one hand. "But, no arguments, Todd, no 'misunderstandings.'" His eyes were hard, cold. "You fire on whatever facility is down there with any kind of full, destructive power and we'll take you out ourselves."

The Wraith stood silently, feral grin never wavering. It scanned the crew – Sheppard, Marks, Caldwell, until finally settling on the lone Satedan standing watchfully in the shadows, gun still gripped in one hand. "Let the hunt begin."

oOo

"You judge us so casually."

The Asgard had resumed its position before the forward view screen; slowly moving around Daniel's left side, a little closer than the archaeologist found completely comfortable. Deliberately, he was sure.

Daniel raised his eyebrows. "You've abducted us from our home, doing who knows what kind of damage and injury; you're causing the deaths of countless humans without thought of anyone but yourselves." His hands moved to measure the space around him. "I know you came here to 'experiment' in peace, without the interference of those who would hold you accountable for your actions." He shrugged. "What else should I base my judgment on?"

"We came to this galaxy during the war. With both the Wraith and the Ancients occupied, we were free to conduct our experiments. Unfortunately the hostilities came to an end sooner than we'd thought and with an unexpected result."

Daniel gritted his teeth. _Too bad_ the war ended. _Too bad_ lives couldn't continue to be lost on both sides so that these Asgard could work safely out of sight. The war that had cost the humans of this galaxy and the Ancients _everything_ was just a much needed distraction for them. "You were betting on the Ancients. They may have tried to shut you down but at least they wouldn't exterminate you."

"That is correct," the thin neck bent slightly. "The Wraith do not tolerate the presence of advanced technologies other than their own. Before we knew what was happening, we were under attack. We lost our intergalactic ships in the first battle and we did not have the resources to build more."

They couldn't escape. And, obviously, couldn't win alone against the Wraith. "So how did you survive?"

"We had no choice but to abandon our settlements and retreat to a place where the Wraith could not look for us - a planet with a toxic atmosphere. At first, we only needed small breathing apparatus. But, as the centuries progressed, these," he gestured towards the empty suit at his side, "exo-skeletons became our only method of survival. Soon, even these will not be enough."

"So, you ventured back out into the galaxy and came across this place," Daniel saw the story spinning out in his mind. Watched these physically – and morally - weak but technologically advanced beings discover Janus' lab and take it for the answer to their problems, once and for all. Destroy the Wraith, destroy many of the humans, as well, and they'd be left alone. Permanently.

"We knew it was built by the Ancients and why, but we were unable to activate it until _you_ came along."

Guilt crept up Daniel's throat again, but he swallowed it, furious, his anger spreading out from the center of his soul. Yes, he'd opened the Stargate that brought the Goa'uld threat to Earth. Yes, he'd befriended Reece, the creator of the Replicators. He'd saved Shyla, pitied the dying host of Apophis so he could be reborn in Sokar's hell, and brought rebellion and apocalypse to Jared Kane's people on Tegalus. And he'd used the Ancient communication stones and so revealed the defenseless people of his galaxy to the all-powerful Ori. Daniel had done all that and more. But, once his mistakes were made, once he'd seen the consequences of his choices, his actions, his double-damned curiosity, he had never – _ever_ – hidden safely in the distance to watch the horrifying aftermath unfold.

"Did you ever consider contacting the other humans, the other races in this galaxy? To get help, or, even, to give it?" Daniel's words tasted bitter and dead; they were shaped to find targets in a sensitive conscience, in a psyche that wasn't already hardened to steel. They were useless here, he knew it, but stopping, giving up this fight was not in his nature. "I mean, I'm sorry, it's a sad story, but I can't help wondering what might have happened if you'd actually stood beside the Ancients instead of waiting to see what side would come out victorious. If you'd thrown in with them, given them access to the advanced technology the Asgard could offer." Daniel knew his smile wasn't pretty. "I mean, you've shot yourselves in the foot, here, haven't you?"

"No." The Asgard's denial was sharp, insistent. Dangerous. "We have shot, as you say, the Wraith. Many humans may die, but, if our brethren in our home galaxy are gone and we are all that is left of the Asgard race, then it is a small price to pay for the survival of our species, our culture, of all of our knowledge and technology."

Daniel nodded, lifting his head, blinking back moisture as he absorbed the shock. "I think you'll find," he lowered his weary gaze to the Asgard's cold, unfeeling stare, "that the price will be far too high."

There wasn't anything left to say – they both knew it. With a nod, the Asgard leader summoned the suited guard. It grabbed Daniel by the arm, the servos and mechanics of its exo-skeleton turning the limp grasp of a long-fingered Asgard into a crushing grip that ground Daniel's bones together. It hustled him silently out the door, down the long corridor, and shoved him forward into the cell where Rodney waited.

Daniel stumbled and landed heavily on his knees. He braced his hands on his thighs as he sought to catch his breath. Rodney crouched beside him, white-faced, eyes round with amazement.

"Are you okay? I – I thought you were a goner!"

"I'm all right," he muttered, smiling at Rodney's utter disbelief.

"I mean, they need _me_, you're kinda expendable…"

Daniel couldn't help the inappropriate sarcasm. "Yeah, I got what you meant by 'goner,' thanks." He took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet.

"Well," Rodney stood next to him, "what did they want?"

"To talk, actually." Daniel rewound the confrontation and played it back within his mind. Exactly. The Asgard had wanted to talk, not to listen. Had only insisted on the meeting in order to vocalize its rationalizations, to rehearse its justifications for its actions. Daniel shook his head as Jack O'Neill's Pentagon office flashed into his memory. _Yes, thanks for that object lesson, Universe,_ he sent out into the cosmos, _but I'm a little bit busy right now._

Rodney was taken aback. "Oh. So, how did that go?"

"Huh. Not well. But, here's the surprise," Daniel put his hands on his hips, "they're Asgard."

"For real?" Rodney squeaked. "I did _not_ see that coming!" He mimicked Daniel's pose. "So, are they going to shut down the device?"

"No."

The scientist waved one hand through the air as if he could dissolve any connection with the Asgard like so much smoke. "Then I don't care who they are. I mean, as long as this thing is on, then millions of people will die. And I think I've figured a way out of here."

Daniel found it was his turn for round-eyed amazement. Clearly, Rodney had a good grasp of priorities. Get the heck out of this room. Shut the Endgame Device down. Survive. Escape. Talking over, time for _doing_. He followed his friend towards a familiar looking wall panel and watched Rodney easily detach the cover.

"This is an Ancient facility, with Ancient controls just like on Atlantis. So, I found the place the door controls should be, and, _voila_, here they are. And so I do this –" he quickly pried two wires apart and stripped off the insulating material, "- disabling the fire monitoring sensors which tricks the system into believing there is a fire, and then – ouch!" The two bare wires sparked against Rodney's fingers, the faint stench of ozone making its way to Daniel's nose just before –

"- and, Open Sesame!" Rodney beamed at his own genius as the doors slid open.

"Wow! Nice job!" Daniel admitted, moving towards the corridor.

"Yeah, well, it's a darn good thing they brought you back when they did, 'cause, um," the scientist hesitated at Daniel's side.

"It's okay, Rod, I get it," Daniel nodded his acceptance. "If I was a 'goner,' you needed to escape and shut that thing down." The hallway was empty – Daniel's first piece of good luck since he'd set foot on Atlantis. "Let's go." Hopefully, their luck would hold. At least, for a little while.


	19. Chapter 19

A Moving Sea Ch 19

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

"Nothing?"

Landry didn't bother shaking his head. "No, Jack. Still no response from Atlantis. The 'gate won't connect."

"So, we're just going to _wait_?" Jack snapped.

Raising bushy eyebrows, Landry gestured towards the briefing room window and the Stargate that sat there, one floor below, like an over-muscled giant slug. No – slugs actually moved, albeit slowly. More like a naquadah enhanced paperweight.

"Well, if you've come up with any better ideas to connect with the Pegasus galaxy, I'm all ears."

Eyes narrowed, Jack stared at the other man, what little patience he'd managed to hang onto disappearing beneath weighted sarcasm and the worry that pounded his heart against his chest. "Well, frankly, _Hank_, my thoughts on the matter are that waiting _sucks_." He shook his head and headed into the SGC commander's office, grabbing up the red phone and fixing an outraged Landry in place with one pointed finger. "Stand down," he ordered, only then addressing the shocked voice on the other end of the phone line. "Not you, Major. I need to talk to Vidrine, the Joint Chiefs, and anyone else you want to line up between me and getting the Odyssey prepped for immediate launch to the Pegasus galaxy." He flopped into Landry's chair, never taking his eyes off the other general. "I'll _wait_."

"Jack, it'll still take three weeks to get to Pegasus. Atlantis is likely to have whatever the problem is on their end fixed long before that." Hands on his hips, Landry was acting a little frayed at the seams himself. "So, three days from now, you'll be stuck on the Odyssey in hyperspace and Doctor Jackson will be sharing his well-researched and extremely long-winded explanations from the other side of an open wormhole."

"Three days, huh?" Scenes skipped through Jack's mind like those old-fashioned flip books he'd had as a kid. Daniel lost in fire, surfacing in an alien sea three days after his memorial service; his bleeding, swollen wrists roped together, begging for mercy from a homicidal Unas; his hair cut short, perplexed blue eyes staring up at Jack from a futuristic cryo-chamber put together by Hathor; Jack waiting for the return of a too-quiet, too-reserved Daniel who'd been hustled off to infiltrate a meeting of Goa'uld system lords armed with only an untested poison and his wits; sitting in this office, hands tied, while they wondered if Daniel had survived the Tegalus Armageddon. And, most recently, reading a report – a damned _report_ – that Daniel had accepted an Ancient's consciousness and had been stolen away by the Ori's Evil Queen.

Funny how Jack's famously fuzzy memory always seemed so very sharp and clear whenever the subject matter was Daniel Jackson's survival.

"Okay," he finally relented, red phone still clutched in his hand, "I'll give you three days, Hank." His smile was calculatedly casual. "And, in the meantime, we'll put the Odyssey through her paces, just in case." And I'll make some of my own arrangements, he added silently. Shipping out supplies from his townhouse in Virginia, tying up his finances, checking in with Teal'c and Carter. Yeah, three days should just about do it.

Because, no matter what, Jack O'Neill would never, _never_, be put in this position again. He would not find himself waiting for word about Daniel from behind a desk, sitting beside a fish-less lake, from half a continent let alone an entire galaxy away, handcuffed by regulations and his gut knotted by helplessness. If he had to shackle himself to the universe's most stubborn archaeologist, move in, take over the guy's life, well, so be it.

'_Dibs.'_ It wasn't like he hadn't warned him.

oOo

Finding the two unoccupied suits of battle armor had been another unexpected stroke of luck. Daniel fumbled at the tiny controls along the almost invisible seam down the back of the suit, grateful that he'd witnessed the way the thing opened so that he was at least looking at the right place for the Asgard runes, buttons clearly made for the clones' small hands. Successfully opening one suit, he nodded at Rodney and moved aside to the other.

"So I just …" Rodney pointed one wagging finger at the dark interior.

Daniel shrugged, eyebrows twitching. "Looks like. The suit seemed to mold itself to the Asgard's form, so, I guess …" He took a deep breath and stepped inside the opening, suppressing the all-over shivering that crept along his nerves as the suit warmed and then folded itself along his foot, around his ankle, slowly creeping up his leg like a large, very friendly cat. He glanced over at Rodney who was still waiting, watching Daniel's progress, his mouth turned down in a grimace. Daniel forced a smile. "Last one in's a rotten egg."

Lighted schematics flashed to life at the periphery of Daniel's vision just as the helmet sealed itself around his head, the Asgard language resolving easily into readings that made sense. The empty corridor before him leapt into existence, the field of vision surprisingly wide and crystal clear – if he could ignore the slight pressure against his skin, it was as if he had no helmet on at all. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Now, let's try ... he turned his head to the right. The movement was easy and smooth as silk, and, as he watched, Rodney's helmet turned towards him.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yep, loud and clear," Daniel answered. He closed his gauntleted hand around the weapon at his side. "Let's go."

oOo

"Exiting hyperspace," Marks announced, raising his eyes for a moment to the view screen.

Sheppard followed his gaze, taking in the small, red sun, the cloudy masses of gas giants, and the stark white pinprick of a world in the middle distance, dead center.

Behind him, he heard Caldwell give the order. "Wraith vessel – you are clear to launch."

A slight lurch beneath his feet, a whisper of sound through the bridge speakers, and the Wraith cruiser leapt onto the screen like an arrow from the bow.

"Bull's eye," John muttered. He felt Caldwell's eyes on his back, Marks and Jacobson, the techs manning the aft station and weapons' control. The air seemed to thicken around him, pulling every hair up to stand on end. He refused to rub his hands up and down his arms or around the back of his neck, but kept his arms crossed, his stance easy. He shifted his weight, and looked up at Ronon through narrowed eyes. The smirk on the big man's face told John everything he needed to know.

"Colonel?" Caldwell nudged.

John nodded, jerking his head towards the doorway. "Shall we?"

The Satedan huffed impatiently. "Waitin' on you."

Time to go.

He heard Caldwell's order as he and his teammate headed towards the Jumper bay.

"As soon as the Jumper is away, Major, take us in."

oOo

The door to the lab slid open silently and Daniel stepped inside, Rodney just a half step behind him. They raised their weapons and dropped the three armored figures before they'd turned from their consoles.

Daniel moved inside and stood over the closest alien, his weapon aimed at its chest. The suits did not make the wearers immune to their own weapons' fire – interesting. But just how long would even a frail Asgard stay down with the armor diffusing some of the energy charge? He and Rodney had been out for hours, both times, but – Daniel stared down at the motionless figure, his hand steady. He could do this, he _would_ do this: he would fire as many times as necessary to ensure that he and Rodney had enough time to shut this weapon down – to destroy it – or destroy the entire facility, if it came to that. These Asgard may not remember what courage and sacrifice meant, but Daniel was ready to show them.

A new readout blinking an insistent red inside his helmet caught his attention. Daniel squinted at the biological information scrolling in a tight line from top to bottom – heart rate, blood pressure, intracranial pressure, and, finally, an estimate of time until consciousness. About forty minutes. Good. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders and he let the gun come to rest against his leg. Good. That should be enough time. One way or the other.

"Hey, check this out."

Turning, Daniel saw that Rodney had somehow managed to detach the helmet from the rest of the suit. The scientist smiled smugly, craning his neck in that supremely happy, 'look what I did' way of his. Carefully holstering his weapon, Daniel raised both hands and slid his fingers along a seam that he'd sworn hadn't been there before, finding a small display along the edge of his vision that led him through the detachment process. Somehow, the air seemed sweeter without the helmet's bulk, and Daniel drew in a deep breath.

"Okay, how long to get the device shut down?" he asked, stepping over the bodies.

Rodney made an indignant noise. "Pfft. Five minutes, tops." With one long step he was at the controls, both hands poised. "Aw, come on!"

Without the helpful readouts from within the helmet, Daniel was at a loss. "What?"

"Well, something must have spooked them," Rodney snarled, turning a blistering stare in Daniel's direction.

"Well, I doubt if it was my brilliant rhetoric," he snapped back. "And how can you tell, anyway?"

One hand flailing over the controls, Rodney rolled his eyes. "You mean, aside from encrypting this work station-"

"- which you can easily break- "

" – well, yes, in a heartbeat! But, as even a_ soft _scientist knows, you can't operate this machine without the control key they thoughtfully brought from Atlantis!"

Daniel's gaze darted across the barren console, and then around the room. He sighed. "Which they've taken."

"Yeah."

He closed his eyes. He should have known better – when had relying on Daniel Jackson's good luck every worked out?

oOo

Sheppard felt the ship engage, felt it respond to his slightest touch on the controls as if it anticipated him. The planet grew in the view screen from a dot, to a ping pong ball, to a three dimensional orb swept by huge atmospheric storms. The end of the chase. He could feel it.

"I've got the Wraith ship – it's approaching the planet, 30 degrees off the elliptical." Ronon leaned forward in the co-pilot's chair.

"Weapons?"

"Looks like they're set to thirty percent. By the looks of the aliens' shields, they should shake them up, but won't do any real – hang on."

"What?" Sheppard set the Jumper into a parallel course to the Wraith's, checking to make sure the cloak was engaged. _Fool me once_, Todd, he murmured to himself.

"One – no, two launches from the surface." Ronon flipped switches. "They're heading straight for the Wraith."

"Ships, not drones or missiles?"

"Yeah."

Sheppard checked the display. The Ancient system logged shield strengths, weapons, drive capability. "Looks exactly like the ship that slipped into Atlantis and took our people," he growled. "Let Todd deal with them."

"How do we know McKay and Jackson aren't on one of those ships?"

John rolled his shoulders. "The signal from that Attero weapon still coming from the surface?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's where Rodney and Daniel are." _And that's where I'm going_, John added silently. The Jumper leaped forward.


	20. Chapter 20

A Moving Sea Ch 20

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Daniel joined McKay where he stood before the heavily shielded window. Thick, brilliant bolts of electricity lit the air within the chamber to pure white, time after time, their unpatterned rhythm leaving him tense, expectant, and perpetually startled as his mind and body tried to anticipate, tried to ready itself for the next burst. He spread one gloved hand across the near corner of the glass. Could he feel it, sense the vibrations, the radiation, the fatally high charge? Or was it a sense memory, his unlucky past experiences with all those things firing along his nerves and filling in the missing pieces?

"Radiation in there would be pretty extreme, not to mention those electrical discharges look pretty … unfriendly," Daniel observed dryly.

McKay shuffled closer. "Yeah, but the antenna has a control crystal. If we can pull it manually ..."

Daniel glanced at his friend's pale – determined – face. "And you think the suits will protect us?" They hadn't done much for the Asgard even just against the energy weapons. Compared to those lightning strikes, those guns would be like the static pings he got whenever he wore that cream colored sweater right out of the dryer.

"Technically. I mean, they were made to sustain life in harsh environments, right?"

"Technically," Daniel smiled. "You okay with this, Rod? I'd say it's fifty-fifty we can _get_ that far." He nodded towards the squat silver mechanism huddled on the far side of the chamber. 

"I'd go thirty-seventy, but I don't have a better idea and the suits - they should protect us."

_You just keep telling yourself that_, Daniel mused silently. He met Rodney's eyes once more before he reattached his helmet and moved towards the door.

Rodney's armored figure hesitated, turning back towards Daniel as the door mechanism beeped, an indicator light flashing red. "You know, we both don't have to go in there," the scientist began.

Daniel chuckled. "Well, when you get killed by one of those discharges, someone's gonna have to finish the job, so ..." He wished the suit could shrug.

And yet, he could almost make out Rodney's characteristic grimace. "Oh, great pep talk, Mister I-Can-Disarm-Bombs-With-My-Silver-Tongue! Thanks!"

He followed Rodney into the chamber, the familiar banter turning to dust in his mouth. "That's _Doctor_ Silver-Tongue to you."

oOo

Caldwell's hip slammed into the side of the command chair as the Daedalus seemed to stand on its tail and make a sharp turn to starboard at the same time. A flash of gun-metal filled the view screen for a moment.

"Marks!"

"Near miss, sir! We came out of hyperspace almost right on top of them!" His hands blurred over the controls. "Alien ship, Colonel. It matches Colonel Sheppard's description of-"

"Fire at will!" Caldwell snapped.

He watched the rail guns' fire strafe along the underside of the alien ship until it passed out of sight, leaving fleeting after-images of white and black. Yellow streaks of light followed.

"Report!"

"It entered hyperspace before the drones could connect, sir. Looks like it had already begun opening a hyperspace window before we arrived – a few of the drones followed it through."

Caldwell slapped one hand down on the command chair. "So they weren't necessarily targeting us." He shoved the anger down, bit back a curse, and steadied himself. "Check the surrounding space – see if you can get a read on the Wraith and any other ships out there." If the aliens were already abandoning the planetary base, what did that mean for their missing men? Had they taken them? Had they left the Attero device behind on a base so well fortified the Daedalus wouldn't even make a dent? "And hail Sheppard."

"The Colonel is contacting us, sir."

"Sheppard to Daedalus. We're approaching the alien structure."

"Any readings?" Caldwell narrowed his eyes at Marks, making it clear that the question was aimed at him, too.

"The shielding is pretty tight," Ronon's voice growled from the speaker. "We're targeting a remote edge with one drone – see if we can destabilize it enough to get sensor readings."

Caldwell's jaw ached from clenched muscles. "Just get me a damned lock for the transport beam. I want those men out of there."

"Understood."

Marks glanced up. "The Wraith are engaging two alien ships on the opposite side of the planet."

"Take us closer, Mister Marks."

oOo

The small room seemed miles across. Instinctually, the two scientists kept some space between them, as if giving the arcing electricity a choice of targets. Daniel winced as a bolt flashed past – too close. The Heads-Up-Display within his helmet crackled, winked out, and then blinked back to life, every reading well into the red. Icy sweat trickled down his back and he shivered, suddenly cold – someone walking over his grave, cold.

"I'm pretty sure we want to avoid those touching us," Rodney commented, his words snapping out double time, staccato.

Daniel tightened his lips, unwilling to add to Rodney's stress with any demands for him to hurry, to shut up, to concentrate. He tried to force deep breaths, not the shallow little puffs of air he was allowing himself as if afraid to call any attention to his presence.

Finally, Rodney knelt down before the silver mechanism, hands easily finding the catch that let the cover-plate slip off. He placed it carefully on the floor.

Daniel hovered. Stepped back. Moved closer. He watched the display within his helmet, watched the rods piercing the walls of the chamber, trying to see that instant just before a bolt of lightning formed and split off as if he would have time to dance out of the way.

He glanced down at Rodney, at the tray full of Ancient control crystals. Rodney wasn't moving.

"What are you waiting for?"

Hands hanging in space just a few inches from the crystals, Rodney shook his head. "I have to pull the right one or the antenna explodes."

No pressure. Death by electrocution. Death by explosion. What the hell difference did it make?

"Hurry up." Daniel couldn't help it. One way or the other, their odds of success were dwindling the longer they stayed in this chamber. "But-" he added quickly, "get it right."

_Yeah, good job, Jackson_, Daniel said to himself. That should definitely help.

oOo

"Drone away." Sheppard watched the display, mentally pushing the Ancient weapon to move faster. It had to strike at just the right angle, with just the right amount of force, or he might as well have let the Wraith target the facility with everything they had. Dry eyes fixed on the read-out, his hands poised over the control that would send the Jumper skimming over the alien landscape, searching out two human readings.

Next to him, Ronon grunted.

It was music to John's ears. The shields were down. "We're coming, Rodney," he whispered.

oOo

"Okay, here goes nothing," McKay murmured.

Daniel felt it – felt the air before him separate, ripped into jagged pieces by the slash of electricity barreling towards his chest. Blue-white, blinding, snarling in its intensity, it hit him like a truck, hurling him through the air to smash against the metal wall of the chamber.

Pain. Suffocating. His chest seized – body gripped by monstrous claws that crushed and gouged. No air. _What – what_ - Pain. Just pain. Nothing else. His world was pain and darkness and confusion.

Something tingled along his spine – across the mountain on his chest, exploding it into shrapnel. One choking breath. It smelled of sweat – jungle – of unwashed bodies and fear. A spasm tore through him. Arms and legs disjointed, strings cut, bones pulverized. "No … no more …" The cage sent shocks across his skin. "I'll – " he gasped, sobbed, "I'll … tell you …"

_Daniel_.

His skin unfolded, origami sheathed in blood.

_No, Daniel._

Dying. Again. _Last time_, he pleaded through numb lips. _No more_.

_I'm sorry, Daniel. So sorry._

_Please._

_Your journey is not over, my friend, my brother._

_It hurts, Skaara._

_I know._ Tears flowed behind the words_. I know._

_Hurts._

A shaft of light lit the darkness; warm brown eyes so full of love, of sorrow._ You must stay, my brother. You are needed._

_No. Not … not me …_

_You. You will live. You will find the answer._

Daniel tried to hold onto the familiar scent of desert, the embrace of strong arms, a toothy grin. Grappled, clutched at it as it dissolved into light, grey and distant. Demanding. He had to … had to find the … answer.

_Daniel!_

Pain struck hard. Merciless. He gasped. "What – " he spoke, but couldn't hear his own voice, "what – is the question?"

Eyes. Pale, blanched features. A mouth moved, grimaced, smiled. Shaped soundless words. Lots of them.

Rodney.

"Okay … okay."

Daniel recognized the shape of that word, not the ones between. An answer – he had to know … something. What?

"Did you – did you –" The weapon. The energy. Rodney didn't have his helmet on. "Did you – turn it off?" His muffled demands might have been words.

Rodney nodded, eyes blinking, hands poised above Daniel's body as if afraid to touch. "Yes! Yes! I did – we did – _you_ did!"

Thin and squeaky and indistinct, but Rodney's voice. Sounds ebbed and flowed in waves against his consciousness.

"Where does it hurt?"

Daniel closed his eyes. Everywhere. Nowhere. Loss bubbled up in his chest, leaped in tears from his eyes, stabbed thick blades into every joint. He'd – he'd lost something. Again. What? Everything?

"Shh, it's okay. We'll be okay. I mean, no one's come running. I think we're on our own, here." Rodney sounded so happy about it.

"Good," Daniel breathed. "Good." He didn't have to open his eyes.

"Daniel – look - I mean, on the bright side, I mean, we're both gonna be dead of dehydration in, like, five days, so you won't have to put up with me for much longer."

Poor Rodney. Daniel tried to blink, to open weighted eyelids. To offer reassurance. Absolution. Something. Rodney's eyes looked darker – warm – brown. Light behind his head brightened his hair to silver.

Jack.

A crooked smile dissolved in familiar Asgard beams and Daniel thought he heard a voice.

_Hang in there, Spacemonkey. Hang in there._


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments! They make my fingers itch to write faster!**

A Moving Sea Ch 21

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

The Daedalus' medical bay was cramped, just like every other room on this god-awful ship. Woolsey tugged at the zipper on his jacket, twisting his neck to try to ease some of the tension. Nothing about this mission had gone right – nothing. He paced the short corridor between beds, back and forth, his thoughts churning, mouth turned down in a scowl. He knew that Dr. Keller's eyes focused on him from time to time, her scowl nearly as deep as his own. Luckily, she and her staff were too busy preparing for casualties to interrupt.

He stopped, eyes closed, cold dread washing over him. Casualties. There was absolutely no excuse for his equating the word 'lucky' with the thought of casualties.

Todd had had no intention of complying with the medical tests. He'd been prepared to attack – to take over the ship and her crew, his warriors in place aboard awaiting his signal. And Woolsey, oh so secure in his role as Pegasus Galaxy Peacemaker – as diplomatic hero - had ordered his most experienced combat team to stay behind. It was an odd mixture of anger and relief that had accompanied Colonel Sheppard's opening shot that had shattered the Wraith's weapon and Richard's arrogant certainty. At Todd's demands - and Sheppard's sarcastic acceptance - both emotions had boiled up his throat, urging Woolsey to insist on his rightful place among the military tacticians, there, on the bridge, at the heart of things.

But they hadn't given Richard time to open his mouth before shuffling him below decks with Keller. And, now, looking back on his complete blindness to this galaxy's risks, to Todd's utter _alienness_, and the rapid play of changing circumstances from friendly meeting to lethal alien encounter, he could only be grateful.

Head hanging, he forced himself to wade back into his memories, rehearsing the thoughts and actions that had preceded this mission – his assumptions and ignorant overconfidence; his true motivations. It wasn't hard to trace them back to their roots. And there, at the bottom of it all, at the very base and foundation of Woolsey's pride and planning was Daniel Jackson's face.

From the moment he'd received communications from two Air Force generals on Earth, while the man was still three weeks out on this very spacecraft, Daniel Jackson had been front and center in Woolsey's life. Every decision, every mission report or informal communication, every time the leader of the Atlantis base had to make a choice or evaluate a threat, Woolsey had seen Jackson's furrowed brow above intelligent blue eyes, eyes that seemed to strip Richard of every thin shred of confidence. Those eyes had seen through him so many times before, had weighed and judged and found him wanting – in every instance. Usually – 99.9 percent of the time, if Richard was being honest – Jackson had been right.

Daniel Jackson on Atlantis had been too close, too threatening. The man who opened the Earth Stargate and who had made it possible to find the lost city of the Ancients, veteran diplomat and fighter, well-loved by his teammates and well-respected by everyone who had the least connection with the Stargate program. A man who had been welcomed by the Ascended Ancients and had a better grasp of their motivations and philosophies than any other. All Richard Woolsey brought to this position was the reluctant backing of a leftover political alliance and a lifetime of clever maneuvering that had left him nearly unblemished by the filthy fallout of bad decisions.

He should have welcomed Jackson, should have been quick to offer an olive branch; embraced the myriad skills and experiences the man brought to Atlantis. But … he shook his head, his smile thin and uneasy. _But_. With their history, there could never be a meeting of the minds between them. There could be no real working relationship that wasn't tissue thin, easily scraped away with a breath of air or one sharp word. That kind of alliance, of cooperation, could only be built on the good intentions of both men, held together with the precise restraint and careful control of two strong wills that could focus past their past to face Atlantis' future. The stress of life in the Pegasus galaxy would have broken it in an instant.

It wasn't as if Richard's intentions had been all that good, anyway.

The ship shook beneath his feet and Woolsey looked up, reaching out to brace himself against whatever was handy – bed – cart - the closest medical corpsman. Fear uncurled in his belly, leaching outward. They were going into battle over an alien world against an unknown foe, their only ally Atlantis' most formidable enemy. Richard had performed under fire before, had managed to appear calm and reasonable under worse conditions. But, right now, it felt like he couldn't find a safe place to stand – quite literally. Like his feet had been kicked out from under him; his careful planning and meticulous attention to detail useless. This situation called for action – decisive, immediate action. And all Woolsey could wonder was _what would Daniel Jackson do_.

At least Caldwell and Sheppard were keeping him informed – grudgingly. They were going to try to rescue McKay and Jackson, and make sure the Ancient device that targeted both the Wraith and the Stargates – with equal abandon - was destroyed. Quite a weapon. Whoever these beings were that had activated it were ruthless, merciless in their intentions to eliminate the Wraith once and for all. Once, not so long ago, perhaps, Richard would have toted up the columns of wins and losses, reduced human suffering to pure mathematics, and come to the same conclusion. Once. Before he'd seen SG-1 nearly tear themselves apart with guilt at Janet Frasier's death. Before he'd watched Anubis' hybrid son pull innocent airmen to their deaths with the power of his mind. Before the bleached eyes of a Daniel Jackson turned Prior had stared straight through to Richard's soul and unmasked the fear lurking there.

Blind to the preparation going on around him, Richard took a deep breath and tasted the bitter acid of resentment. In that one moment aboard the Odyssey when he'd been pinned to the wall by Daniel's overwhelming power and need, between one heartbeat and the next, the scientist had stripped Richard of everything – every pose, every posture, every carefully formulated response – and had revealed the darkness – the emptiness – the absolute, unreserved depth of Richard Woolsey's self-doubt. To both Daniel and himself.

Richard could never forgive him for that.

Another jolt struck through him from the deck plates, rattling up through Woolsey's bones until his teeth clattered together.

"Okay, let's do one final systems check – make sure nothing was shaken loose."

Keller's voice dragged him back to the present and he scanned the hurried team working busily around him, their quiet expertise and practiced movements spreading another layer of uncertainty across his convictions. He tugged down on the hem of his jacket and straightened his spine.

"What can I do to help?"

Keller turned surprised eyes to him. "Um, well, we're probably looking at some sprains, pulled muscles and minor or major burns among the crew."

Richard watched her face register her thoughts, watched the unemotional mask drop over her features as she clicked off her mind's checklist. But it didn't last. Worry tightened her mouth, clouded her eyes. She blinked, shifting her shoulders as if the heaviness of her responsibilities hurt her. His eyebrows twitched as the startled revelation came to him. _She's so young for this. _A snapshot of his first sight of the members of SG-1 rose from his memories. He'd thought the same thing about Daniel Jackson, once.

"And I don't know what kind of shape Rodney and Doctor Jackson will be in when they get them out – we should try to be ready for anything - "

"Doctor Keller." He took a step closer. "Jennifer."

He caught her mid-word.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Woolsey assured. Calm. Confident. It was so much easier when the weight rested on someone else.

She frowned, staring. Nodded. Settled herself. "Right. So, if you could help the Corpsman distribute saline bags to every station – "

"Caldwell to Infirmary." The colonel's voice barked out into the air, stilling every movement. "The shields are down. Prepare to receive our men."

Woolsey raised his chin to address the air.

"Acknowledged-"

"We're ready, Colonel-"

He and Keller broke off abruptly.

"Sorry-"

"Sorry-"

Woolsey chuckled and shook his head, stepping forward to take the unwieldy IV bags from the male nurse and then moved towards the gurney farthest from the doctor's nervous anticipation.

The atonal ring of the Asgard beams turned every head towards the empty space – the now glittering space – at the ends of the beds.

"Rodney!"

"Oh God – hurry, hurry up." McKay, wrapped in a strange alien suit of armor, rose quickly, his face pale and frightened.

Woolsey gripped the IV bags, the liquid within them cool against his suddenly sweating palms. The figure lying on the floor, covered from chest to toe in matching armor, was panting, groaning weakly with every breath. Richard forced himself to set the bags carefully on the nearest surface.

Keller raced towards McKay, pulling him around to face her. "Rodney – are you okay?"

"Not me – _him_! Daniel – he's-" He pulled his arm from Keller's hold.

The corpsmen got to Daniel before Woolsey, crouching over the injured man, one checking his neck for a pulse, the other holding his head still between his hands. And all Richard could do is stand and watch, helpless. Clouded blue eyes rimmed with red opened and closed, unseeing, in a face drained of any color. The pallor was … too deadly. Too familiar.

"What happened, Doctor McKay?" one of the men snapped.

The scientist's arms flailed. "Massive – _huge_ – electrical charge hit him. I mean really, _really_ big." His mouth gaped, as if the words were almost too much for him. "I didn't think – I got his helmet off pretty damned quick, and I don't think he was breathing, but now, well, he clearly _is_ breathing … and … and moaning," McKay winced.

"Can you tell us how to get him out of that … thing," Woolsey pointed at the armored suit that seemed to pin Daniel to the floor, arms and legs bent at awkward angles.

"No, not yet," McKay stuttered, pushing at Keller's still reaching hands and coming to stand at Daniel's head. "I think it might have kept him alive – might be keeping him alive." His gloved hands clenched into fists. "An electric shock that big – we're talking heart stopping, blood-vessel bursting , paralysis-" he stopped abruptly, his mouth a grim line. "I think the suit mechanism might contain some biomedical instruments, they were built to sustain life in harmful environments, so …" McKay's head wobbled back and forth, "so … so … so it probably resuscitated him."

"Heart's racing," one corpsman knelt at Daniel's side, fingers still at the carotid pulse on his neck. "Breathing is erratic." He leaned closer. "Doctor Jackson, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

McKay fidgeted. "He was talking before – he knew what was going on, asked me about the device."

Keller pushed her way past Richard's right shoulder, finally focusing on Jackson. "Okay, let's at least get him up on the gurney. We'll have to assess his condition but, Rodney, I don't think we'll be able to scan him properly through this suit-"

"No, no, you won't," the scientist swept one hand across his forehead and then stared down at the thick glove as if reminding himself it was still there. "Just, be sure, okay?" He stared into Keller's eyes. "Be _really_, really sure before you take him out of it."

Keller nodded and turned away. Woolsey found himself at McKay's side, shoulder to shoulder as the medical crew raised Daniel onto one of the beds and began their work. He could feel the scientist's tension, the air of fear and desperation billowing out to fill the small room.

"Are you sure you're all right, Doctor McKay?"

McKay hiccupped a laugh, strained and gasping. "Yeah, I'm fine _now_, especially if Caldwell is up there blasting that facility to smithereens –"

"- I believe that's the plan -"

"- but once General O'Neill finds out about this –"

Woolsey nodded, all too ready to help dissipate the anxiety. "It's not going to be pretty." He looked McKay up and down. "And, unless I can find a can opener, it's not liable to smell very good either."

"Oh, ha ha."

The forced humor stilled to silence. And, for the first time in a long time, Richard Woolsey prayed.


	22. Chapter 22

A Moving Sea Ch 22

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

The crisis was over. _This_ crisis – this _current_ crisis, John reminded himself, the adrenaline crash hovering at the edges of his vision. He blinked the darkness back, fleetingly wondering when he'd last slept. Yesterday. Last week. Last month. Last lifetime. Time did strange things out here in space; history seemed more substantial, more removed and more relevant at the same time. The Ancients had left the Attero device ten thousand years ago. Today it had been used to kill -just how many was still unknown.

Rodney and Daniel had been beamed to the infirmary. Alive. That one lonely word that should have been reassuring dragged steel fingernails down John's spine, sent relief and fear stabbing through him. No explanations. No flat descriptions of injuries or comforting words of support. Mission accomplished - his men had been recovered, two alien ships destroyed and two others gone – fled into hyperspace. And, last but not least, he and Ronon had just returned from a final flyby over the smoking ruins of the secluded base: the black earth, bare rock slowly being covered over by silently falling snow, and a jagged, lifeless crater enough to assure everyone that Janus' invention could never be used again.

He leaned back in the Jumper's command chair, his hands slipping from the controls onto his lap. Lights dimmed, readouts blinked to inactive status. Waiting. Waiting for that particular touch, the specific spirit caught up in John's DNA that would bring it to life. The harsh overhead flood lamps of the Daedalus' landing bay sent shafts of light and shadow in through the wide front port of the little ship, bleeding away the color, the elegant design reduced to a few tons of metal and glass, crystals and electrical wire. A body with no soul.

Ronon stirred, half-rising before he noticed John's stillness. A grunted sigh and he let himself fall back into his chair.

"We should get up there."

"We should," John agreed.

The alien warrior wasn't really known for his patience. "You'll need to hold Caldwell's hand when Todd calls in."

"I know." A smile stole across Sheppard's face at the thought of the Daedalus' commander's reaction hearing it put that way.

Ronon scratched one hand against his scalp. "McKay will probably beat us up there."

"Huh." Sheppard looked over at his teammate. "I'd lay bets he's tracking down the closest hot meal."

The Satedan played along. "Or complaining to everyone that we should have gotten here sooner, or ripping Zelenka apart for some … math thing."

John nodded, an unsettled storm deep in his gut churning reluctance along his nerves, holding him fast in the chair. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Done with waiting, Ronon rose and stalked to the hatch, slapping Sheppard on the shoulder as he passed. "Come on."

Swiveling the chair to face him, Sheppard tightened his lips, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Don't you ever get tired of this, Ronon? Tired of every day being a battle?" Watching friends - people you care about - getting wounded, bearing scars in body and soul no one should ever bear? Shit. Sheppard scrubbed one hand over his face, trying to erase what he'd just said – thought. There was no wood to knock on in the Jumper – he'd looked before. Too many times before.

"What's the alternative."

John looked up. Clearly, to Ronon, to the man who had been forced, for years, to run in the Wraith's deadly game, it wasn't a question.

"Look, whatever's waiting isn't gonna change just because you don't want to face it," Ronon added. "I learned that on Sateda."

"I guess I'm superstitious," John tried, rising, muscles protesting as if he'd been wrestling with the armored aliens himself instead of flying above it all.

"No," Ronon told him, his tone flat and dismissive. "You're tired." His smile was dark, daring, as he stood straight, consciously flexing his muscles. "Hey, you're only human."

John shuffled past him, shaking his head. "Remind me to get Teyla to kill you, later."

At the elevator, he forced himself to punch the number for the bridge, _not_ the infirmary. Whatever fallout was waiting – from Todd, or Woolsey, or Keller, it would all fall upward eventually.

Two-thirds of it was waiting for him.

John stepped into the center of the bridge, placing himself at Woolsey's right, but far enough away that Caldwell was visible between them. On the view screen, Todd's eyes narrowed, following him, white face framed by colorless hair making the thin line of blood along his jaw that much brighter.

"I see you have survived, Colonel Sheppard."

"Nice to see you, too, Todd."

The Wraith smiled. "Mister Woolsey is insisting that the device has been destroyed."

"Your own readings should tell you that."

"They tell me that the Attero device is no longer in use, not that you did not come away with it aboard your ship."

Beside John, Woolsey cleared his throat. "Although the difficulty of 'proving a negative' does exist, as has been theorized by philosopher Steven Hales, one can logically be as confident of a negation as of an …an … affirmation …"

_What the_ … Sheppard turned his head to deliberately stare the bureaucrat into stammering and then silence. Once again facing the Wraith, John shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's gone. We're not quite stupid enough to believe we're smarter than the Ancients." This time.

Todd stood silently, glaring, his smile revealing predator's teeth, a mouth too crowded for clichés or reassurances – or any normal – human - speech. John shook himself. How could they have thought for a minute that the Wraith would want to turn themselves into anything less deadly?

"So, I am to trust you. Again."

"I'm sorry," Sheppard growled back, tension and that crawling dread in his gut draining him of any attempt at patience. "I'm sorry your cohort died. I'm sorry you didn't trust us enough to go through with the medical treatment. But, unless I'm mistaken," he glanced back at Caldwell who quickly shook his head, "we're done here." John shrugged. "Use your hyper drive and find out – or don't. Either way, we're headed back to Atlantis to check on our people – to salvage what we can. Maybe you should do the same."

John turned away, moving back towards Caldwell, eager for the end to this conversation – confrontation – whatever. Behind him, Woolsey was moving right into the space John had left empty. He shouldn't be surprised.

"But, about the medical treatment-" the diplomat quickly added, "we'd like to continue the dialog about this."

Todd's voice was like the grinding of continents – slow and deliberate and weighty. "I believe the correct phrase, Mister Woolsey, is 'Don't call us, we'll call you.'"

The image disappeared with a final clicking of circuits. Marks stared at his console.

"The Wraith have entered hyperspace."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Caldwell snapped back. "Take us back to Atlantis."

Sheppard didn't let his gaze waver from the colonel's face. Not when Marks acknowledged his orders and the bridge crew began to fall back into accustomed patterns. Not when a familiar pinkish glow reflected from the view screen over the older man's grim features. Not even when he sensed Woolsey's presence at his side and Ronon's larger than life-size shadow falling across them all. "Damage?"

Caldwell held his eyes. "They got in some hits – a few back-ups kicked in. Minor injuries. Except for –"

John rolled the taste of bile around in his mouth. "McKay." A touch on his sleeve surprised him. He looked down, took in the thin fingers, the smooth, age-spotted skin, unmarked by the stains and scars of labor or service. His weary gaze followed the uniform sleeve up until he was staring at Woolsey's focused expression. Bad news was shining out from behind his eyes.

"Doctor McKay is fine." The bureaucrat's voice was soft, encouraging. "He and Doctor Zelenka are still in the infirmary, helping with …"

"It's Daniel. Doctor Jackson." The torn pieces of Caldwell's control drew John's attention back to the older man. Anger – fear – grief – they all underscored the colonel's usually bland expression. He sat in the command chair as if he'd been caught in mid-leap, half out of it, one leg bent, one stretched out to rest on the deck, every muscle tensed. There was no reassurance here.

"Dead?" John made himself ask, reluctantly releasing the possibility out into the Universe.

"No." Immediate denial. Woolsey shook his head.

"Almost," Caldwell corrected. "They're not sure –" his mouth closed over whatever else he might be tempted to say.

Silence stretched out, catching them all up in thoughts, worries, fears, trying to imagine a world without the SGC's conscience, without Daniel Jackson's particular mixture of curiosity and boldness, absentminded fearlessness and sudden, daunting intellect.

"You should go."

The large warrior's words were brusque, but loaded with meaning. Ronon nodded towards the corridor. "Go."

John hesitated, watching Caldwell's knuckles whiten against the command chair's arms.

"Yes, you should both go."

Caldwell frowned, surprised, blinking up at the man that stood quietly at John's side. _Woolsey_?

"If you trust me to oversee your crew for the moment," Woolsey added, a half-smile painting a painful self-honesty across his face, "while we're safely in hyperspace on our way home." He nodded towards the Daedalus' commander. "I promise to notify you immediately of any problems."

"Me, too," Ronon added dryly.

Woolsey mirrored the warrior's baleful stare, nostrils flaring. "Thank you for your support."

"Uh huh."

Sheppard felt something like relief. "C'mon," he urged Caldwell who was obviously still undecided, "let's go."

oOo

"Okay, gently now."

Caldwell stepped into the infirmary, Sheppard at his side. Keller's voice barely carried across the small room, past the strange group huddled around the gurney. Two corpsmen helped her carefully turn Daniel's unconscious body from its side to lay him on his back while Zelenka and – McKay? – had their hands full of red and silver armor. Not unlike the suit McKay himself wore.

Sheppard lunged forward just as McKay let go of his end of the shared burden, catching the armored suit before it dragged Zelenka to the deck with it.

"Thank you, Colonel."

The two shifted out of the way and Caldwell watched McKay hurry back to Jackson's side.

"Is he – did it – "

Keller studied the screen at her side, one hand on Daniel's chest. "His heart rate is steady, Rodney. Breathing shallow and rapid." She didn't look up at McKay's heavy sigh. "Okay, now that we've got him out of that thing, let's make sure he's stable and then start the scan."

McKay stumbled backward, still focused entirely on the pale, limp form on the bed. "That – that's good. Okay. Right." His words of confidence, of conviction in Daniel's well-being sounded like lies.

Even Steven knew McKay was a bad liar. Sweat plastered Daniel's hair against his head, darkening it to nearly black against his pale skin. Pain lines around his eyes and mouth were cut deep, his legs and arms lying not quite right against the sheets, as if his marionette strings had been hopelessly tangled. "Doctor McKay?"

"What?" Rodney spared him a quick glance. "Oh. I'm fine. He's fine – I mean, he will be fine. I'm sure. Positive."

The larger nurse was carefully maneuvering Daniel's limbs, testing his joints, until an unconscious groan filled the air and the archaeologist's head shifted against the pillow.

"Hold off on that – he's clearly still in pain." Keller's palm skimmed lightly across her patient's forehead, soothing.

"Yeah, clearly," Caldwell muttered, crossing his arms to keep from reaching out to wrestle the corpsmen roughly away.

"I know." Rodney stood right next to him, the strong scent of ozone and fear from him strong. "She doesn't want to give him anything until they check him out." Another groan drew a grimace from the scientist. "It's kinda hard to watch."

"'Kinda.'"

"Let's get you out of that suit, Rodney."

Zelenka was back, hovering, Sheppard in tow.

"I told you, I'm not leaving. It's not important," McKay insisted, one hand waving them away.

"Not that it's not a good look on you," Sheppard quipped, his worried frown contradicting the lightness of his tone. The colonel reached out to brush one hand against the thick armor covering McKay's shoulder and then lifted it to wrap around the back of the scientist's neck. He held on tight, drawing the worried man's attention, his gaze locked on wide blue eyes, and Caldwell watched silently as the two renewed a connection – a deep bond – that served to ground them both. "You should get checked out, too."

McKay sighed, his nervous fidgeting stilled for the moment. "He's pretty busted up, John."

Sheppard nodded. "I know. Let's get you out of this while they work."

Zelenka shook his head and grabbed McKay by one arm turning him to face the wall. He bent over the man's back, murmuring in Czech, fingers poking and prodding.

Steven ground his teeth, hating it. He hated the lowered voices, the funereal air of whispers and waiting. He moved towards the medical team, telling himself he was giving the slight Czech room to work. His mind registered Sheppard's questions, McKay's assurances that the device could never be switched on again without the control crystal he'd brought with them, filing the information away for later. It was another voice he was listening for.

He remembered how still Daniel had stood before the ship's window, watching the play of hyperspace along the hull. How he'd seemed to drag such heavy weights of dread and anger from the Milky Way, carrying a load of despair that would cripple anyone else. Quiet nights of coffee and honesty over a chess board had confirmed for even a tired old officer, lacking in much that resembled insight into his fellow man, that Daniel was profoundly depressed. He'd offered to carry some of the younger man's burdens – or at least tried to show him that there were people here in Pegasus who would look past the legend to see the real, flawed, exhausted man beneath.

Steven had listened. And still remembered the shock on Daniel's face when he'd realized someone had.

The medical scanner had been hauled into position, its lights playing gently over Daniel's body as if careful to allow the barest brush of electrons so it didn't add to the man's pain. Medical jargon passed back and forth, words like 'deep tissue damage' and 'inflammation' and 'brain swelling' and 'hearing loss' started adding up, stacking on top of each other like weights on Steven's chest. His hands cramped; he'd fisted them so tightly, hidden behind his crossed arms, but he couldn't seem to move to release the tension. Not yet.

He waited while Keller worked. While nurses bustled back and forth. While clothes were cut away and sensor pads were pressed against bare skin. While needles were stuck into flesh and bags of colored fluids were hung over Daniel's head. Electronic beeps and muffled wheezes began to fill up the small silences between swift orders and verbal reports. Time passed. Daniel's eyes stayed closed.

When Dr. Keller finally stepped back and turned to face him, Caldwell realized McKay and Sheppard were flanking him.

"Before you ask," she began quickly, cutting off whatever McKay had opened his mouth to say, "he's already showing some improvement. His heart is sound and we're giving him oxygen just to make sure his lungs don't have to work too hard. We're managing his pain, but, with the severe concussion, we're being very careful."

"Concussion. I'm not surprised," Rodney began, "I mean the thing threw him across the room and into the wall. Pretty hard." He gulped a breath. "He hit pretty hard," he whispered.

"I suppose the helmet helped mitigate the injury," Keller assured him. She took a moment, obviously choosing her words, her shadowed eyes telling them she was far from finished. "Lightning strikes like the one Doctor Jackson experienced can do everything from stopping the heart to breaking bones." She held up one hand. "While no bones are broken, the scan tells us that he has the symptoms of multiple dislocations – both hips, both shoulders, and the right elbow and wrist. They have been reduced – everything is back where it belongs – and it does look as if the alien suit took care of some of these more traumatic injuries just about immediately. But he'll still be recovering from all of the physical results of these injuries." She looked back over her shoulder at her motionless patient.

"What are we talking about here, Doc?" Caldwell finally managed, the question forcing its way past the invisible hand squeezing his throat.

She set her jaw. "We'll monitor for intracranial pressure; there is a possibility of seizures. Anti-inflammatories and varying ice and heat should help with the joint swelling. There's an Ancient device back on Atlantis that should knit his ruptured ear drum. He may experience some intermittent paralysis; I'll be able to assess the nerve damage once we're home. But," she paused, "managing the pain will be the worst of it."

"_Nerve damage_?"

"He's going to recover, Rodney," Keller reached out, resting one hand on McKay's arm. "Daniel's alive, he's stable. It's important to focus on that."

"And he's going to wake up, soon, right?" Sheppard seemed to be watching McKay, searching for something for the scientist to pin his hopes to.

Keller nodded. "I'm hoping Doctor Jackson remains unconscious until we get back to Atlantis. Our facilities there –"

"How long?" McKay faced Caldwell, demanding, all but ignoring Keller now that he'd gotten the facts.

Steven did the math. "Five hours. Four and a half if the hyper drive can take it." They'd pushed the Daedalus hard to get here. Remembering another conversation with Daniel, Steven suddenly got a mental picture of an annoyingly superior Asgard hovering over the controls, tweaking the engines with abnormally long fingers. "Never thought I'd wish Hermiod were here."

McKay was already moving toward Daniel's bed. "Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for," he threw over his shoulder. "Okay. I'll be here." McKay grabbed a nearby stool and settled at Daniel's side.

Caldwell wanted to stay. Wanted to park himself on the other side of Daniel's bed and will the man into recovery, into consciousness, to rebound from this as quickly and completely as he had all those other times. But he had a ship to command. Duty. Responsibility. He eyed McKay's stubborn features. At least Daniel would have a friendly face to wake up to.

And nerve damage. Damaged joints. Paralysis. Seizures. A world of pain.

Caldwell turned his back and walked away before the outrage that was throbbing and pulsing in his gut managed to get loose.


	23. Chapter 23

A Moving Sea Ch 23

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

There were long moments of waiting. Of blurred worry and lassitude that swirled around him, shaped colors and whispered textures, rough and warm, cool and smooth, reds and yellows and slumber-deep purples. He was wrapped in burial cloths, in seeping gauze, in the endless light of Acsension, in the firm, steady arms of a friend. The sensations fluttered, wafting in and out, folding time and space and existence. Only one thing remained steady, only one thing anchored and held him; insistent, strong, unwavering.

Pain.

Rising to the surface through the awkward eddies of medication and injury, pain welcomed him. And, when he let himself fall, drifting down through murky waters, arms and legs spread out, pain pushed him deeper.

Too tired to frown, muscles sore from tensing, from fighting against the unending stream of impulses jerking along the rusty railway of his nerves, Daniel lay, mind searching for a flickering candle flame in the darkness. Searching for an anchor. A voice.

Voices came and went, muffled, oddly echoing. Some stayed. Some brought comfort, some eased him back to unfeeling oblivion. Some almost made him want to wake. But none of them were right.

"... thought you might like to know. Just minor injuries – Banks was smart enough to collapse the shield around the Atlantis 'gate before it blew, otherwise …"

"… and then they pulled off the cloth and there's this huge painting with McKay in this heroic pose and me cowering like a scared little puppy and the girl – queen, if you can believe it – is standing there all smug, eyes only for Rodney …"

"… doing great, Daniel. Can you open your eyes? Just for …"

"… probably the last voice you want to hear, but, if you could hang on, there's a message on a data crystal back at Atlantis that you should hear. Of course, as soon as the Daedalus gets the new Stargate back and McKay installs it, I'm sure he'll be in our faces, big as life …"

Heavy tread across thick metal deck plates and the sudden silence poised above him spoke with a gruff tone, pulling reassuring words from Daniel's memory. _"'I've seen mercy and kindness, self-sacrifice on a scale that humbles me, and decisions made not just because of self-interest, but for the good of alien people who couldn't possibly repay us. While one man may not have been responsible for all of that, I think he showed us the way. _You_ showed us the way.'"_

Painful movement after that stole any hold on consciousness; one ungentle shift of his legs brought a shaft of agony as bright as lightning, quick and breath-stealing, and then darkness.

oOo

"How long, Doctor McKay?"

Since they'd returned, Woolsey had made it a habit of walking the city, pausing here and there to watch lab experiments, to stand silently as workmen did repairs, hovering in the doorway of the infirmary. John had seen the reports, had watched the man in the background when he'd spoken to various teams. And, across the older man's face, John was pretty sure he was seeing sorrow; regret; resignation. Woolsey seemed to be saying good-bye.

John had some sympathy for the guy. Atlantis was a rough gig – there wasn't enough training in the world for dealing with alien vampires and glowy trouble-makers that kept on popping up like Caspar the not-so-friendly ghost whenever your back was turned. But, just now, he stifled a sigh and wished the man away.

He understood the impatience, the frustrating need to have the Stargate up and running, to contact Earth and report on what had happened. He could almost feel O'Neill's angry vibes from across the light years – getting that particular conversation over with was at the top of everyone's priority list.

But coming down from his office prodding at McKay every ten minutes was not going to help. You did not poke at a worried, sleep-deprived, over-stressed and underfed bear unless you wanted –

"Look! I am working as fast as I can! And unless you want me to just throw these connections together in any old order with spit and maybe some chewing gum, risking another mammoth explosion and who knows how many other injuries, maybe you could, I don't know, bother someone else for a change!"

Yep, John thought. Right on schedule.

The scientist shifted obviously aching shoulders from his hunched posture at the base of the 'gate where he'd been checking on the crystals beneath the floor, laptop cradled possessively in one arm. A scowl drew down the ends of McKay's mouth and his eyes glittered with exhausted intensity in the shadow of the 'gate. The words were sharper now, if that was possible, honed by his continuing anxiety over Daniel's condition and the weight of his duty to set up the new Stargate. "But not Daniel – just, just leave him alone. He's in enough pain and nothing seems to help him except when someone talks to him but not you –" he pointed one finger at Woolsey's chest , "definitely not you."

Ouch. Sheppard watched the nasty barb connect, saw Woolsey's flinch and how the man simply nodded and faded silently into the background. "Rodney," he sighed.

"What? Oh, don't you start."

"I'm not starting anything," John reminded him, "I am trying to finish it, though."

"I'm busy." Rodney hunched back over his connections, prying up another deck plate to get to the controls he needed.

John stared at the technician kneeling at McKay's side and jerked his head. The man nodded, rising and hurrying off in relief.

"Hey," Rodney called after him. "Where are you –" He turned quickly, spearing John with a baleful stare. "Why are you chasing off my minions? It's going to take much, much longer if I don't have people I can order around."

Knowing he couldn't put it off – again – John crouched at McKay's side. "Rodney, this isn't helping."

"I know it isn't helping, isn't that what I just said?" The scientist's closed-off, deliberately obtuse expression crawled under John's skin.

"I mean your attitude with Woolsey. This wasn't his fault-"

"Oh, really. Really?" McKay surged to his feet, bringing John up with him. "So his attitude towards Daniel and his attempt to make the Wraith mission a feather in his cap didn't have anything to do with the fact that the Daedalus wasn't in orbit when those evil Asgard came to call? That the ship was too far away to get to us quickly enough so that, so that I didn't have to turn on the device at all?"

The rant was familiar – Rodney's loud, accusing voice had worn a deeply grooved track ever since they'd begun their return trip to the city. Blaming Woolsey. Demanding to know what business he had giving orders or expecting anyone to follow them. John kicked himself in the metaphorical ass again for letting Rodney know how the bureaucrat had reacted to the news that the city had been attacked, that Rodney and Daniel had been kidnapped – how his knee-jerk reaction had been to blame the archaeologist's investigation.

"… then, then maybe we wouldn't have had to go in there, into that, that death chamber, and Daniel wouldn't be – "

"Rodney." John hoped the weight of his tone, the solemn reassurance behind his eyes, and the familiar hand on this teammate's shoulder would finally get through to him. "It's not his fault – and it's not your fault, either."

Rodney's gaze darted beyond John's face, over his shoulder, up to the 'gate and back down to his laptop – unable to settle.

"Hey." John shook him a little, drawing his attention. Daniel was suffering – that was for sure – but McKay was torturing himself almost as deeply. "You did what you had to do – both of you. To survive. To buy us the time we needed to get there." When the scientist dropped his chin, John shook him again. "And you both risked your lives to save millions of others."

"He didn't have to go in there."

The words were barely audible. John waited.

"I told him we didn't have to both go in there, but he just made a joke and … and came with me."

John smiled. "Now that sounds like the Daniel Jackson I've heard about."

"He's so annoying," Rodney huffed out, crossing one arm over his chest.

"Uh huh."

"Never listens."

"Right."

The tension drained away from the hard muscle beneath John's hand and the shadows in McKay's eyes receded – still there, still hovering, but shared now, thinned for the moment, by friendship and mutual understanding.

"I've got to get this 'gate working." Rodney hooked one thumb over his shoulder.

"I know – or there's going to be a Major General on Earth with a coronary on our consciences, too."

"Seriously." McKay nodded. "Those guys are like attached at the hip or something, I mean, talk about overreacting. And, it's not all O'Neill, either. You should have seen the reports about what Daniel did when O'Neill downloaded all of the knowledge of the Ancients into his brain – twice! Crazy! It's like they're an old married couple or something."

"Weird," John stated evenly, nonplussed.

"Totally weird. What grown men act like that?" McKay turned back to his work.

John watched his teammate, his friend, and couldn't help but smile.

oOo

"Doctor Keller?"

The young woman turned, eyebrows raised, her professional face firmly in place. "Yes, Mister Woolsey?"

He managed a thin smile. She'd been run ragged over the past 24 hours – longer, considering her preparations for the aborted Wraith mission. He knew she'd briefly closed the infirmary to visitors, the steady stream of well-wishers intent on checking on Daniel Jackson had been more annoying than beneficial. He glanced through the clear divider that separated this small lab from her patient, caught the eye of Daniel's current visitor, clearly undaunted by any limitations, nodded, and turned back.

"I don't want to bother you, Doctor." He held up one hand. "But I was wondering – back on the Daedalus you mentioned that you could heal Doctor Jackson's ear drum?"

She smiled, apparently relieved to be able to confirm at least a small measure of healing. "Yes. That much is done. Of course, we won't be able to truly test his hearing until he's more fully awake and cognizant."

"Of course." Woolsey bit at his lip, hesitating, weighing the possible consequences of this choice. Did it really matter, now? McKay would have the 'gate running within a few hours, and surely the ink on Woolsey's transfer orders wouldn't be allowed to dry before O'Neill stepped through and slapped them into his hand.

Decision made, he pulled the crystal from his pocket and ran his finger along one edge. "You've mentioned that he's calmer, less restless, when he hears familiar voices."

"Yes."

Woolsey swallowed. "I'd like to play a message for him."

Caldwell eyed him warily as he and Keller moved quietly into the small room.

"Colonel," Woolsey began, "I'm sorry to interrupt – I know your down time is limited. But I think Doctor Jackson – " He took a steadying breath. "I'm sure Daniel would want to hear this." He straightened his shoulders, ready for an argument, a fight. His authority with these people had deteriorated into dust.

The colonel tipped his head to one side, considering. "Okay."

"Okay?" Richard didn't know what to do with agreement.

Caldwell's lips twitched. "Okay. If you think it's important." He stepped away from his perch near Daniel's head to allow Keller access to the equipment there.

The two men stood watching as she placed the crystal into a slot, punched a few buttons, and then – very gently – affixed a comm to the side of Daniel's head.

"I'm assuming this came through before the 'gate was destroyed?"

Woolsey tugged at the collar of his jacket. "Yes." He glanced up at the taller man who was still facing forward, his jaw muscles tight. "Before the Daedalus left orbit, actually."

"But you were busy getting ready for the mission and it … slipped your mind until now."

Woolsey didn't bother explaining.

"Well," Caldwell half-sighed, half-growled, "better late than never, I guess."

oOo

" … _should have had this discussion a long time ago …"_

The candle flame flickered, as if moved by a gentle breath that barely stirred the air. Daniel shivered, willing the tiny flame to steady, rehearsing the familiar chants that would bring his awareness back from distraction. Distraction meant pain.

"… _definitely not across millions of miles of space with who knows who- or what - listening in …"_

The voice drew him away again, his head turning, eyes searching for a presence at his side, filling in the broad shoulders, casual smile, deep-set eyes, and hands that were fidgeting with some priceless remnant of a long dead culture. He braced himself for the pain, for it to rise up with the force of a tidal wave to engulf him – drown him in crippling sensations.

Instead, a room built up around him. Not the darkened, candle-lit tent of Vis Uban. Not the cramped, concrete-floored quarters filled with a Jaffa warrior's presence. It was a room scented with the dust of centuries, of coffee, and the warm, damp of papers. Where memories of life and love circled piles of artifacts and crept in slow eddies around reminders of loss and shame. A room that held memories of friends and discovery and emptiness. Filled with … himself.

Jack stood there, just outside the dim pool of light cast by his desk lamp. He slouched in familiar green clothes, grey hair military short, long fingers holding a clay bowl, one crooked thumb brushing gently across its simple pattern. Daniel watched from the shadowed doorway – neither in nor out – as Jack addressed his empty desk.

"You're planning to stay, aren't you?"

Daniel frowned. Jack's voice was rough; the easy bantering tone darkened by unease, by apprehension.

"I knew you wouldn't go after the gene therapy if you didn't plan to stay. You're all about digging in, Daniel, making a place for yourself. Putting down roots." Jack shrugged. "Made yourself at home on Abydos, with Sha're." He smiled down at the marriage bowl before placing it carefully on the desk. "Made a home here once upon a time."

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. "But that was more about the people than the place, wasn't it, Daniel? Hammond – he was like the backbone that held us all together. Gave us shape." He chuckled. "Must have been like herding cats. And me, sitting in that office for two years, pretending I could be him." Jack shook his head. "All that meant was I wasn't being 'me' anymore. I forgot we were all pieces of the puzzle."

"The puzzle. Finding the right pieces, dusting them off, and fitting them together. That's you, Danny. You're a world builder. All those years after your parents died, when you didn't fit in anywhere – you'd just build a world up around yourself. Make it fit you." Jack's voice was warm, filled with admiration. "You might have been the proverbial square peg, Daniel Jackson, but you hammered out the shapes and filed the edges until it all fit. Until we all fit. Worked your ass off."

Jack turned, his gaze picking Daniel out of the shadows, giving him form, hauling him into the light by sheer will. "And then we left. Left you here, in the center, trying to hold it all together around you while we broke off and pulled away."

Daniel stepped forward, blinking; a different kind of pain registering now. Deeper. Wilder.

"And your world got crowded with other pieces, got all skewed and distorted. Somewhere in there you had to let go of us, of Teal'c and Carter and me, just to try to survive. But it hurt you. And I'm sorry for my part in that."

Warmth wrapped around Daniel's spirit as the Jack O'Neill within his memory stepped closer and held him. "Just, do me one favor… _Spacemonkey …_"

Daniel breathed in the antiseptic smell of the infirmary, eyes blinking hard against the harsh light above his head.

Jack's voice was still whispering in his ear.

"… _do me one favor, Spacemonkey. Don't make any big decisions while you're hurting. Give me a chance to talk you out of staying. Let me make my case. It's been a crap couple of years and you're running on empty."_

A gentle hand on his cheek startled him and he frowned, expecting brown eyes, a sardonic grin that tried to hide a bottomless depth of caring. But it wasn't –

"_I'll be along directly, I figure. As soon as I can. Until I see you, take care of yourself. I mean it."_

"Ja-?" Daniel turned his head away from the young doctor, searching, but the pain grabbed at him, making him choke off that one syllable.

"_See you soon, Daniel."_

"Hey, Daniel."

Steven Caldwell stooped over him, reaching for something beside Daniel's head. A moment later he held up one of the Atlantis comm devices.

"Just a message from back home. Thought you might like to hear a friendly voice."

From the other side of the bed, Doctor Keller laughed lightly. "I'd like to think we're all friendly voices here."

Friendly voices. Reminding him of hope and life and calling him back from oblivion. Rodney. John Sheppard. Steven. Daniel looked farther and saw Woolsey standing there, uneasiness wrapped like a dark cloud around him. Even Woolsey. And Jack, reaching out from the other side of the universe.

He let his eyes close, warmth muffling the aches that still tried to fill his senses. Why had he imagined himself so alone?


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Argh, Jack and Daniel were not cooperating! Only one or two more chapters! Yeah!**

A Moving Sea Ch 24

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Landry might not have been the person most relieved that reconnecting with Atlantis didn't take the entire three days, but it was close. Jack had commandeered Landry's office for hours, making calls and setting his plan in motion to get the Odyssey ready for a cross-galaxy trip, requisitioning teams and materials and approving TADs as soon the ink was dry on the Joint Chiefs' carte blanche. He'd watched Landry wander in and out, watched him circle the briefing room table, the narrowed eyes and half-twist to his mouth announcing his irritation without saying a word. Well, without saying _many_ words, anyway. But, in snide commentary and pushy arrogance, Jack was more than a match for any other guy any day of the week.

For one particular phone call, Jack had closed the door practically in Landry's face, his expression set into iron planes and painfully sharp edges. Jack might have been playing fast and loose with his commission, his career, and his future by slamming highly placed, politically heady ears with some home truths about Daniel, the Ori, sacrifice, 'acceptable' casualties of war, guilt, and some fundamental differences between a trained military mind and the kind of openness Daniel's life had required of him, but letting any of the fallout splash across to Hank Landry wasn't part of his plan. To say the Joint Chiefs – not to mention the president - had been … surprised … by Jack's honesty was an understatement. But, eventually, they'd heard him. And, his diplomatic tongue growing forked in his mouth, Jack had suggested alternatives, had allowed the big man to save face, and had backed off enough to calm the fingers that were just itching to reach across the country, across phone lines, and tear the stars from Jack's shoulders.

You didn't reject your country's clumsy display of gratitude without taking a big-ass risk.

They'd been quick to agree to Jack's suggestions – this time with the added caveats and stipulations about letting the final decision rest with Daniel. Copies of tentative orders were faxed – including every kind of phrasing and language that would – hopefully - cover any combination of factors that came up on the other end. It hadn't even taken much hinting and finesse for General Vidrine himself to 'suggest' Jack's temporary leave in anticipation of his transfer. Jack smiled. He hadn't had to draw his weapon once - a certain blue-eyed diplomat would be proud of him. _If he'd survived whatever was going on in Pegasus, _that little voice he couldn't squelch reminded him_._ Jack had no doubt that, no matter what kind of tragedy had struck, Daniel Jackson had placed himself at the ground zero of it.

Eighteen hours. Jack had relocated to a VIP suite for a brief 'power nap,' and was working on settling his personal affairs when Atlantis phoned home. With explanations. And reassurances. And casualty reports. And, finally, the kind of news that Jack was expecting – should have been ready for – but that still hit him right in the gut and turned his knees to jelly. He'd lowered himself into Harriman's quickly vacated chair and listened as Sheppard and Woolsey nattered on about exploding Stargates, and new enemies, and subspace signals, and how long it would take to assess the repercussions of the Ancient weapon. Jack had pulled himself straight, then, to listen closely to the names of those lost in the Jumper explosion. It could have been worse – it could have been much, much worse. And still …

"General – Doctor Keller assures us that Doctor Jackson will almost certainly make a full recovery-"

Jack had held up one hand, his teeth clenching. "Stop," he'd barked. "Stop trying to help, Woolsey, you don't have the right _context_ for it." He'd settled his gaze on Sheppard. "Talk, Colonel."

Sheppard had crossed his arms over his chest. "He's right. Daniel regained consciousness a couple of hours ago, but Keller's worried about nerve damage and the pounding he's taking from that level of constant pain and, frankly, I want Carson Beckett back to oversee his care."

Jack interrupted Landry's hesitant throat-clearing behind him. "I'll bring him along."

"Just like that?"

The smile that had grown on Jack's face probably didn't look as nasty as he meant it to. "Just like that," he'd promised, glancing once towards the omniscient little bald guy who was already speaking quietly into a telephone in the background. He flipped back the cover on his watch. "Give me six hours."

"Acknowledged," Sheppard nodded. "Full reports will be waiting for you, including a threat assessment of these Asgard as soon as I can pry Rodney away from his buddy's bedside for five minutes."

McKay? Jack shrugged. "Leave him be. Knowing someone's with Daniel is gonna ease some worries around here." Not Jack's, but Mitchell was getting twitchy and Carter would be arriving in under an hour, let alone the biggest, baddest worry-wart of all. He'd pointed a finger at the screen. "Any changes – anything at all, you call. Got it?"

"Got it."

"O'Neill, out."

And then, thank God, they'd all gotten the hell out of his way.

Now, the familiar alarms rang, unheeded, in the background, the glare of red warning lights flashing across pale and dark skin resembling the flush of sudden embarrassment or heat. Jack stood at the base of the ramp, one lumpy duffle at his feet, a slightly smaller bag hooked over one shoulder. Concrete – dust – machine oil – the scents rose up around him and, just at the edge of awareness, he could almost detect the smell of blood, the sounds of gunfire and staff blasts, shouted orders and screams of pain. He blinked, the sweet/sad sound of Taps echoing from memory, laughter ringing, arms clasped in 'welcome homes' and final salutes given in grave respect and gratitude.

"You're sure you shouldn't just bring him home, sir?"

Carter stood beside him, shifting her gaze from Jack's determined expression to the event horizon that rippled lazily at the top of the ramp and back again. After their necessarily brief discussions, could-have-beens that had been given and received, Jack knew that the yearning in her eyes had nothing to do with retaking a command and everything to do with renewing a friendship.

"No, Colonel." Carson Beckett was standing just behind Jack's left shoulder, quietly tsking at hearing the same question he'd been asked by practically everyone on this side of the wormhole. "From what I've been told, and the test results Doctor Keller has sent, we should restrict any sort of movement. And who knows what a trip through the Stargate would do to the lad's already over-stressed nerves." The clone shook his head. "I can assure you, the Atlantis medical facilities are quite advanced. We'll take good care of him."

Jack managed a half-smile. "See, Carter?" He was grateful that Beckett – in whatever iteration - was on board with an 'extended deployment' to Atlantis. With Jack inviting himself into Sheppard's world, even in a sort of sideways drift of the chain of command, he was glad to be able to provide at least one thing Sheppard had specifically asked for. He turned to include the other figure standing unmoving at Carter's side into the discussion. "See? I'm not just trying to keep him all to myself."

"My doubts remain, O'Neill."

"Hey, you could come visit," Jack offered, hands gesturing widely. "You know, once he's up for visitors. It would be like old times; Carter could bring those chocolate walnut cookies he likes, you could haul in some stinky candles and contemplate navels together."

Teal'c's eyebrow seemed etched into a permanently raised position. "And what do you intend to provide by way of comfort to our friend?"

Tilting his head to one side, Jack could easily look beyond the richly colored robes, the shock of white painted through Teal'c's close-cropped hair, the air of quiet dignity and the endless reservoir of strength to see the deeply etched scowl and barely restrained rage of their first few years of friendship. Guilt still defined so much of the Jaffa's soul, had always colored his relationship with Daniel with deep tones of sorrow and regret. Jack reached out as he'd done far too few times in the past, one hand against his teammate's shoulder. "It's okay, big guy. He's going to be okay."

The bow came slowly, finally appearing after darker emotions chased across Teal'c's eyes.

"And, since you ask," Jack continued, crooking his fingers in the air, "I'll be providing the much needed 'perspective' and 'reminders of better times.'" _Not to mention some pointed kicks in the ass for whomever needed those_, he added to himself.

"The Odyssey will be ready to go and awaiting your order, General," Carter added, snapping into a close approximation of 'attention.' "She'll make her best time to Atlantis and we can bring Daniel home safely when you're ready."

"I will also keep in close contact so that I, too, may make the journey," Teal'c piled on, not about to be left out of some kind of SG-1 reunion around Daniel's bedside.

Jack's smile was wide as he held out one arm to the Jaffa for the familiar clasp of wrists and then pulled Carter in for a quick hug. "You'll be the first I invite to any kind of party," he assured them. "But." He snapped the consonant out to ring in the air sharply. "But, let's get Danny on his feet again - and I don't just mean physically – before we go ahead with ordering the streamers and the cake." The smile died away, concern and regret surging up to peel back the façade of this anticipated happy ending. He frowned, gathering up a matching concern in Carter's thin lipped nod and Teal'c's painfully tensed jaw muscles.

"I'm glad you're going." Carter stepped back into the half-shadow cast by the shimmering 'gate. "He needs you, sir. He has for a while."

"Indeed."

"I know." Jack's nod accepted the quiet honesty. And the carefully unspoken blame.

"Well," he smacked Beckett on the back, smirking as the doctor stumbled forward, throwing an icy Scottish glare over his shoulder. "Let's get this show on the road." Jack trudged up the ramp, not surprised to find that Carter and Teal'c strode along at his sides, flawlessly matching his pace, stopping with him just short of the wormhole.

Jack turned and aimed a salute up towards the control room and the two uniformed figures there. As he stepped into the shimmering blue puddle, a voice seemed to reach out to urge him towards his destination – towards his friend and his future.

"_Godspeed_."

oOo

"No."

"Doctor Jackson, I promise you this is the best way to deal with this level of chronic pain. A medically induced coma will keep the pain from building up to become a greater drain on your health than your original injuries. You haven't been able to sleep for more than a few minutes, and it's wearing on you. This would also allow us to reduce the level of morphine which is depressing your breathing and other systems."

Keller's gaze was so honest, so compassionate, that Daniel had to close his eyes against it. Yes, he was in pain; it was like a beast, alive and predatory, and when it wasn't panting and growling from its perch on his chest it was circling his bed, sniffing and slavering at his fear and weakness. But, even if he felt like prey shivering in the cold sweat that drenched his bed sheets over and over again, at least he knew he was alive, not existing in that bodiless state of nothingness, unable to touch or feel or hear a friendly voice. Alone.

"No," he repeated. "Just … no." Exhaustion pulled at him, but he forced his eyes open to punctuate his demand with a sharp gaze. Or, more likely, a few heavy blinks. _That'll show her._

The young doctor shook her head. "Daniel, you're not thinking clearly. If your medical proxy was here, I would be having this conversation with him. As it is, I believe the pain is interfering with your ability to make an informed decision here." She turned her anxious – righteous – gaze on the man at Daniel's side. "Rodney, you understand."

Daniel's throat was dry, his limbs heavy and aching, every joint swollen and hot. He tried to gather up the right words to convince her but they were lost – missing. He felt his right to make this choice, to make any choice, slipping away. What he'd been looking for in Atlantis – to find a place, a home, with choices that wouldn't tear even bigger holes in his soul – was disappearing beyond his reach as he lay here. He managed to turn his head away from the doctor's persistence to look at his friend. The scientist's eyes were impossibly wide, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"Rod." _Please_.

"Daniel – don't you want to – I mean, I know I wouldn't –" Rodney waved his hands towards Daniel's body. "You could just sleep through it, I- I don't know, that sounds pretty good to me…"

No. No more sleeping through his life. No more letting others' decisions define him. Daniel struggled to raise his head, to shift his weight – anything.

"Daniel," he could hear the sigh, frustration and sympathy tangled up together in the doctor's voice, "I'm going to prepare an injection. It's time to stop this – "

"Yep, you're right about that, Doc."

"Jack."

"Hey, Danny."

Daniel closed his eyes at the gentle tone, at the feel of rough, familiar calluses against his forehead.

Something within Daniel that had been clenched fiercely, clasped tightly closed against hope or expectation held for one long breathless moment and then released. Like a rusty lock, heavy and thick with disuse had been met with an old-fashioned, tarnished key.

"Jack – I"

"I know."

He heard the smile and swallowed past the words and emotions crowding his throat.

"It's okay to sleep now," Jack whispered. "I'm right here."

He felt the air move around him as his body grew heavier, his entire being greedy for rest. Safe. He was safe now.

"No comas, Doc. Daniel's made his decision."

Yes, Jack understood.

"And as his medical proxy, let me tell it to you straight. I'll never agree to do anything behind his back."

A frown twitched across Daniel's forehead, a lingering doubt fingered at the raw openness at his heart. But that familiar hand was still there, cool against his skin, and it chased the demons away.

Warmth ghosted over his cheek. "Too many people have done that to him before – including me."

Chairs squeaked, boots scraped. A faint brogue met his ear and then Rodney's delighted prattling. The heart monitor beeped, its stuttering cadence slowing. Oxygen hissed. Movement stirred the angry beast and it stalked towards him, jaws gaping. He shivered.

Strong hands caught him. Broad shoulders stood between Daniel and the beast, wielding homey weapons – a snide smile, eyes shadowed with stubborn concern, lined by age and experience, and a few words – just a few – that said more than a hundred history books.

"So … Carter and Teal'c say 'hi,' and Mitchell's been shaking in his boots, wondering when – and from how high – I'm going to come down on him for his part in this little debacle. Tell me, when did I get such a reputation as an ogre? I always remember my days of command as sunlit little meadows filled with happy airmen and grumpy archaeologists prancing through the daisies." Jack hesitated. "Okay, not so much daisies as Goa'uld, and no so much 'prancing,'" Daniel heard the air quotes, "as running for cover, but you get my analogy. Heck, I'm a teddy bear compared to Landry."

The words spilled across Daniel like a calming breeze, warm and caring, and carried him away into a darkness that wasn't empty, didn't echo with his own unanswered cries and failures. This was a plush, velvet blackness that wrapped around him, cushioning him from the pain and holding him close.

Letting Jack's voice guide him, Daniel let go.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Blah, blah, excuses, blah, blah, life, blah, blah zombies. Stupid characters. Why can't they just do what I tell them?**

A Moving Sea Ch 25

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Daniel's recovery was slow. But, Jack reassured himself as he stared unseeingly at the open folder and the thick fall of papers in front of him, it was a recovery. Little by little the morphine had been reduced – slowly, carefully, as Beckett came to recognize that one of Daniel's not-so-endearing idiosyncrasies was to downplay his level of pain. But, as good an actor as Daniel had become over the years – fooling System Lords and political weenies and super-powered chicks with flames in their eyes – his body was still pretty honest, and cold sweats and panting breaths didn't lie. "I'm fine" had been banned from the Scotsman's hearing PDQ.

Gradually, color came back into Daniel's cheeks, and life – and attitude – back into his eyes. With Sheppard subtly supporting him, Beckett appointed himself Daniel's personal physician, neatly side-stepping any sort of power struggle with Keller whose feathers were clearly ruffled by all the veterans and officers and generally much-older-than-her guys suddenly cluttering up her infirmary. Jack still had all kinds of faith in the woman, but, he'd only needed to watch one of Daniel's stiff, defensive reactions to her approach to know that those two would never be best buds. And what they didn't need was a Daniel Jackson who dug in his heels and stubbornly refused the treatment he really needed because he didn't trust the hand holding the needle. 'Pick your battles,' Beckett had reminded him over their hundred and seventy-fifth cup of bad coffee-substitute in the commissary.

Pick your battles. Good advice. Especially as Daniel began to recover and, some days, was able to open eyes that weren't clouded by physical pain, and the little crease between his brows dug in deeper – not because of a body wracked with injury or exhaustion, but in suspicion, in dark conjecture and unspoken, lingering questions about Jack's constant presence at his side. Reading Daniel had been a skill Jack picked up long ago, and, the past few years of distance notwithstanding, it seemed he'd never lost the knack. Not when it mattered. Or, to be honest about it, not when he was paying attention.

But it was three days until Daniel could sit up for a few hours, and five before he took a few shuffling old-man steps across the infirmary to make his much anticipated first solo flight to the head. And now, one full week after Jack's arrival on Atlantis, he was willing to take some time out from his vigil at his friend's side to deal with … other things. Important things. General-type things.

Daniel was recovering. The easy banter and light conversation that had seemed to ease him during the worst bouts of pain, that allowed him to feel safe enough to sleep, and helped him wrap himself in a sense of normalcy, remembering times in another infirmary on another world all those years ago when Jack had sat in an equally uncomfortable chair and urged him to health had drifted into long, uncomfortable silences under the weighty stare of a particularly offensive elephant lurking in the corner of the room. Daniel's acceptance of Jack's friendly touch had devolved into barely restrained flinching and awkward attempts at distraction. And, as always, Jack's automatic reaction to Daniel's smallest rebuff was flip, darkly-tinted resentment.

Time for some space. For both of them.

He tugged at the black t-shirt, glanced down at the standard-issue Atlantis BDUs, and didn't miss a starched white shirt, a stiff uniform jacket, or shiny shoes in the least. Leaning back, Jack stretched both legs out under the desk until the sharp throbbing in his knees slid back to 'normal, everyday ache' territory. His jaw tightened momentarily, the familiar frustration and resentment trying to chew its way out from the hiding place he'd stuffed all that 'age-related' and 'loss of mobility' and 'liability under fire' and especially "denied field status' crap into years ago. Getting old sucked. Maybe if the dreaded words had come from a certain Napoleonic power monger with a sad smile and a twinkle in her eyes Jack might have accepted it better. Then again … no. Washed-up General O'Neill had limped out of the infirmary right into the middle of his team – his family – three fit, flexible, and disgustingly healthy specimens looking forward to a lot more years traipsing through the Stargate exploring new worlds without him. Jack folded his hands on his stomach, interlocking his fingers, and blew out a breath towards the ceiling. Funny how that bellyful of insulted pride and bitterness had turned into a thin film of anger that had colored every sight and sound and interaction with his best friends until he'd pushed them away and backed himself into one of those sharp, pentagonal corners on the other side of the country.

He looked around, taking in the slick surfaces, the odd angles, the sense of proportions just barely skewed from normal that sizzled along his nerves and told him point blank that this place was built by aliens. New office, new home, new world, new life. New future. He had something similar to offer to Daniel, too, but, as much as Jack hated to admit it, until a certain general dealt with his own shit, Daniel wasn't liable to listen.

Why should Daniel listen? Years ago, he might have. In fact, that annoying self-honesty rearing its ugly head again, Jack knew that, if he'd just opened his mouth and talked, done the _sharing_ thing, Daniel would probably have been completely in Jack's corner. Maybe not right away; it might have taken the stubborn scientist some time, some denial-time, some 'let's throw every brain cell I have against this' time, but he would have gotten there. Eventually. Jack just hadn't let him.

Three days at his cabin. Stress relief. Bonding. Fishing for no fish. Teal'c and Carter doing a marathon of Doctor Who. Daniel lounging in the mild Minnesota sun near Jack's deck chair and doodling in his journal. He remembered a couple of drunken campfire conversations – Evil Princesses I've Known, Least Scary Enemies Ever, The SGC Dumb and Dumber Awards. And, of course, Jack's favorite: Particularly Awkward Conversational Topics. His brand-spanking-new orders had been burning a hole in his back pocket the entire time. So had Carter's, but that had been her story to tell and Jack couldn't exactly throw stones since his own house was made of glass.

He hadn't wanted to spoil it – at least that's what he'd told himself. Didn't want to screw up three days of peace and friendship with bad news. Didn't want to _talk _at all. They'd be going their separate ways soon enough - they'd each had another week of downtime coming to them. They each were trying to get a life, weren't they? Teal'c with his Jaffa brothers. Carter with Cassie. Daniel … Jack frowned. Who had Daniel been rushing off towards? An annoyingly persistent voice whispered to him with Hammond's voice. _'Now you're gettin' it, son.'_

Jack remembered the last morning at the cabin. Bacon. Eggs. Pancakes. No one had remembered to bring syrup and he smiled as he thought of Teal'c's mammoth pout, Carter's creative use of leftover blueberries and cream cheese, and Daniel's victorious smirk as he pulled a jar of Nutella out of his pack and refused to share. Carter and Teal'c had packed up first, anxious to make the trip back to the SGC so Teal'c could head offworld and meet up with Bra'tac and Ryac and Carter could grab Cassie from school for a little girl time. Jack had wished her well, wondering when she was going to come clean about her transfer to Area 51. And if Teal'c's hand-clasp had seemed particularly weighted, well, he'd only realized afterwards the big guy was saying good-bye.

And then, it had been just the two of them. Jack and Daniel. Just like at the beginning when a long-haired geek took one look at some scribbles and unlocked the 'gate to the future. Through that 'gate Daniel had found a wife, freed an enslaved people, killed a god, and saved Jack's life. That morning at the cabin, Daniel had 'pottered.' Taking his time, quietly humming snatches of music, walking back and forth, remembering a book here, finding a lost sock there, and generally letting Jack know that he knew that there was something on Jack's mind. And Jack had … choked.

How do you tell your little brother that you're going away? That the family's splitting up? That, hey, the friendship's been good and all that, but the old man's being pushed out of doing everything he loves and he's pissed about it, so don't call me, I'll call you? The air in the cabin had become so thick with Daniel's unspoken expectations and Jack's resentful silence that he'd retreated to the old rocker on the front porch to stare at the weak sun slowly nibbling away at the mist along the surface of the lake. Old man meet rocking chair. He remembered the anger piling up at the back of his throat, stealing his breath. And when Daniel had – finally – driven away a half hour later, frowning, confused, and, now that Jack thought about it, all but overwhelmed by sadness, Jack had let him go without a word.

It's funny that it took something like this to snap Jack's memory into clarity. Something like a heated confrontation, a bazillion mile journey, some ruthless Asgard, and life-threatening injuries to get Jack to see what Daniel had been really doing all those years ago in his cabin. Silently encouraging Jack to talk, sure. Hoping to help, as always. But, mostly, waiting for an invitation inside Jack's walls, beyond work or team or camaraderie. An invitation to stay. Carter had Cassie and her brother's family. Teal'c had his son and brothers-in-arms. And Daniel? Daniel only had Jack.

Father. Brother. Weird uncle who dragged him to obscure sports games and got him drunk enough to try karaoke. Daniel had lost every single person he'd taken to his heart – parents, mentor, lover, wife, brother, adopted clan on Abydos. All he had left was Jack. And Jack had waved him off with deliberate, cutting, _brutal_ dismissal.

By the time Daniel got back to Colorado from a week exploring Norse ruins in Northeastern Canada, an impatient stranger in Jack's office greeted him with the news that SG-1 – his family – was a thing of the past.

Jack pressed heavily to his feet, moving to the tall, narrow windows that allowed the watery sunlight to play over the patterned floor. He sighed. It might not be Minnesota, but the view was nothing to sneeze at. Fingers splayed against the glass, Jack leaned one shoulder against the wall, letting his thoughts roam out beyond the Atlantis sea to a quiet world peopled by nomads where he'd found a blue-robed man with his dead friend's face. He had a feeling it had been easier to get Arrom to stop calling him 'Jim' than it would be to convince the fully cognizant Daniel Jackson recuperating down in the infirmary that Jack was, and always would be, his best friend.

Behind him, a muffled chime announced a visitor and Jack sighed, sending a mental command through his always-there connection with the city's Ancient technology to slide the door open. He didn't turn.

"Interesting. Staring out the window seems to be an SG-1 thing."

Jack watched Caldwell's reflection approach until the Daedalus commander stood at his shoulder. "Oh, yeah?"

"Daniel spent a lot of time doing the same thing. Finally convinced him that talking to someone wouldn't decrease his 'moody legend of the SGC' status."

"Huh." Jack didn't know how to feel about the fact that Daniel might have done some bonding with Caldwell on his three-week sprint directly away from Jack. He tilted his head. "Wouldn't that mitigate the 'cool' factor? Can't have us legends seem like regular folks, now can we?"

He felt Caldwell's impatience beating at his back.

"So, General," the colonel finally began, barely stifling a snort, "you're planning to help Daniel by staring out a bunch of windows around here? Heck of a long trip for that - can't say that I'm impressed."

Ouch. Jack faced the other officer, turning slowly, leading with a decidedly cold stare and following up with a sardonic twist of his lips.

Caldwell didn't let him get a word out. "I'm going to assume permission to speak freely. Sir."

Jack's mouth snapped shut. Fine. He nodded, arms crossing over his chest in what was an obviously defensive move. "Let's hear it, then."

The colonel stepped closer, arms spread out to either side. "What's your problem, O'Neill? In fact, what's the problem with most of the idiots at the mountain?" Caldwell shook his head. "An asset like Daniel Jackson – a man who has done more for this program than just about anyone – who made this mission to Atlantis possible in the first place – is allowed to get himself so twisted up inside that he's willing to throw himself on top of every grenade he can find and nobody thinks twice about it?" He slapped his hands into his pockets as if to keep them from reaching for Jack's throat. "Haven't you people got the memo about Post Traumatic Stress? About the signs of depression? The rise of suicide among the military?"

"Daniel doesn't need a damned shrink," Jack seethed, every protective impulse urging him forward to meet this threat. Psychologists and stubborn archaeologists were mutually exclusive, had been for years. And this guy could kiss Jack's …

"No. But he could use some _friends_," Caldwell said, slipping the truth in under Jack's guard and effectively gutting him. "And if he can't find them at the SGC, then, let me tell you, _Jack_, there're plenty of people in this galaxy who are willing to step in."

"Yeah. You guys are doing a bang up job." Jack gestured towards the door, his voice rising as the words erupted. "He's not in this city five minutes and he gets slapped in the face by Woolsey, you let him get taken out from under your noses, kidnapped by aliens, and then, _then_," he waggled his finger in Caldwell's pale face, "by the time you get him back, he's practically dead. Hurting so bad Keller wants him in a medical coma, for God's sake. Yeah, you're taking great care of him!"

"You think his physical injuries are the worst of it?" Caldwell demanded, not backing off an inch.

"Hell, no! I think he's had ten – twelve – long years - a _lifetime_ - of crap falling on him so hard and fast he can hardly see daylight!" Jack spat back. "A lesser man would be curled up in a ball crying for his Mommy!"

"That's right." Caldwell straightened, face deliberately blank, his voice low and gruff with emotion. "A _lesser_ man would realize he needs someone to help him. Would ask for help. For a hand to grip, for someone to sit beside him, to stand guard while he falls apart. He'd trust that there would be someone out there that understood. That was willing to put his life on hold for a confused, hurting, devastated guy like him." The colonel's eyes were gentle now, compassion and empathy – and maybe a little jealousy – shining there. "But Daniel can't be a lesser man, can he, Jack? He is what this life has made him."

"What we've made him," Jack breathed, one hand rubbing across his eyes. _What I've made him_, whispered within him. I forced him to deal – alone – just like his grandfather. Just like his archaeology peers, like Oma, dropping him on Vis Uban, far from anyone who knew him. Like Shifu, forcing him to live a lie within his own mind, destroying his self-image where his friends couldn't reach him. Abandoned him. Friends didn't do that. Best friends – brothers - sure as hell didn't do that.

He blinked back at Caldwell. It was the colonel's turn to stare, unseeing, out the window. His posture was rigid, his eyes guarded, obviously wishing he could be the one that Daniel needed. The one to stand beside him, one arm slung not-quite-casually across his shoulders. But, Jack nodded to himself, the colonel knew exactly who Daniel needed. And had been willing to come up here and pry the stubborn, old, cantankerous bear from his den and get Jack to Daniel's side. Nice guy.

Jack jerked his chin towards the window, drawing Caldwell's attention. "Nice view. Better than the one in my old office."

"Yeah?"

He smiled. "Yeah. DC. The cherry blossoms are nice, don't get me wrong. The monuments. But the view's always better when there's a good friend to share it."

Caldwell faced him, eyebrows rising. "So, what the hell are you doing here, O'Neill?"

"What, a general can't be a chicken-shit?" He huffed a laugh at Caldwell's shocked reaction to his honesty. "Hey, believe me, being Daniel Jackson's best friend. It's a blessing," Jack smiled, "and a curse."

"I'd take those odds."

Jack headed for the door. "Get in line, _Colonel_."

Caldwell fell in to walk just a half-step behind him. "Yes, sir, _General_. That's where I'll be – right behind you."

Yes, it was time for Jack to deal with some important things. Things that had nothing whatsoever to do with being a general, or getting old, or getting 'space.' New worlds or old disappointments. It was time to be a friend.

He remembered tearful blue eyes staring up at him from within a white room with padded walls. How he'd stood there, kept his distance, as if afraid Daniel's pain and sorrow would someone rub off on him if he got too close. How, when Daniel had lunged towards them Jack had cringed and moved away. Maybe he'd been moving away ever since.

He picked up the pace. Pressed the controls on the transporter screen a little too hard. In no time, the doors to the infirmary were opening and red-rimmed blue eyes were looking up at him. A little warier, a lot wearier; creased with new lines of age and suffering. Jack stepped forward. It was time to move towards.


	26. Chapter 26

A Moving Sea Ch 26

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

Jack stood there a moment, just inside the infirmary doorway, poised as if for fight or flight and undecided about which to choose.

Carson had just finished Daniel's exam, had been discussing pain management and diet and the need for caution and only very careful, very gradual movement of the joints that had been dislocated in the blast. Limited walking. Absolutely no lifting. His right arm had been cast from halfway down his hand up beyond his elbow – those dislocations having been accompanied by hairline cracks in the bone. His right shoulder – still the most painful joint, as if a flaming, searing ball of acid had been shoved into the socket and left to fester – might require surgery to stabilize things. Carson's fingers brushed gently over the black cast, his tight frown gradually relaxing.

"General O'Neill. Good to see you. Again. Am I going to have to start charging you rent on my comfy-"

Jack interrupted - all sharp focus and obvious intentions. "If you don't mind, Doc, I'd like to speak with Daniel."

"Of course. We were just about finished here." Carson smiled down at Daniel. "Hang in there. I know this place is as boring as one of Rodney's lectures, but," the doctor shrugged, "it'll take time for all the tissue to heal properly."

As the Scotsman walked away Daniel had the childish urge to pull the blanket up over his head and feign sudden, loud snoring. He managed a sickly smile and leaned slowly back against his pillows, careful to keep the winces and grimaces to a minimum as his body protested the slight movement.

Before Carson even made it to the door, Jack reached out as if to stop him. "Could you – I don't know," he made a half-formed gesture towards the hallway, "hang up a 'Do Not Disturb' sign or something?"

"You know," Carson dropped his voice to a rough whisper, "Colonel Sheppard seems to have the ability to keep doors from opening just by quietly asking the City for a favor." His eyes twinkled. "You ought to give it a try."

And then they were alone.

Daniel closed his eyes, feeling the tightness in his skin begin again, the creases in his forehead dig deeper, and the clenched fist twist his guts, filling his throat with bitter acid. For the man who had always been accused of forgiving too easily, of putting away his personal griefs and hurts and contorting himself so that he could see every side of an argument, he was oddly resistant to this man – this friend. It was as if the diplomat role he'd been thrust into over and over again was ripped away and left in tatters by Jack O'Neill's very presence - by the shared history and private hurts that had been painfully revealed, left open to bleed and gape in plain sight between them. Not intentionally. No. Neither had wanted that – neither had welcomed the transparency, the vulnerability that their experiences with the Stargate program exposed. They hadn't wanted to let anyone else see, to let anyone else inside their jagged wounds and unhealed souls – to be weak, defenseless, to have the inner doors that had closed off secrets peeled back, their thick outer shells of strength and resilience sliced down to the bone.

"It's about time we talked, don't you think?"

Jack had moved closer – was standing right beside Daniel's bed. If he opened his eyes he knew exactly what he'd see: the awkward fumbling, the deep-set gaze drifting across his face, unwilling to settle, thick knuckled hands searching for a rhythm against the bedside table. Memories of another kind of overwhelming pain leaped up to tackle Daniel's consciousness. Dead tissue sloughing off his skin, reducing him to a bloody mass defined by white bandages. _"I may have – might have – come to admire you – a little."_ Not the kind of words Daniel could hold onto as he fell into darkness. He was sure he couldn't handle another tongue-tied, embarrassed speech like that.

"Daniel."

He sighed, flashing a smile across his face as he kept his eyes carefully closed. "Do we? Isn't talking over-rated, Jack?"

"I used to think so."

Daniel's bed was jostled and he was surprised into opening his eyes. And what he saw in Jack's gaze – a gaze that fearlessly met his own - was truth and pain and sorrow so deep that it snatched away his breath.

"And then I met this young guy – this friend – who could use words to open doors, to stop bullets, to make friends. His words shaped worlds and toppled giants. Killed gods." Jack's smile was tainted with grief. "I remember this one time," he hitched one hip onto the edge of Daniel's bed, "this guy faced down a brush-cut, hard as nails, military goon. Got in his face. Told him it was too bad he was so eager to die because everyone else around him really wanted to live."

Daniel swallowed, frowning hard to keep sudden tears at bay. "I remember that young guy. He was so sure, so convinced that he knew what was right." Utterly, unapologetically brazen, sure his moral compass was always pointing true north.

Jack nodded, one hand reaching out to lie, poised, next to Daniel's. Not touching, just resting close beside his. Strong. Steady. "Yeah, well," he shrugged, "he was young."

"Arrogant," Daniel added. Foolish. So convinced he could do anything – fix anything. Before Sha're was lost. Before he'd armed an Unas uprising. Before he'd seen his government promote experimentation on a human/Goa'uld hybrid. Before the Ori. _So very wrong_.

"Maybe. I'd call it gutsy. Bold. And, as I recall, he needed all the confidence he could get to deal with the alpha-types all around him who thought they knew better."

It was Daniel's turn to shrug, his shoulder shouting at him to keep still. "Sometimes they did."

Jack's mouth twisted. "Do you mind if we drop the 'that guy' and 'they' stuff? You're dealing with a grey head full of crickets, Daniel, you should remember this."

A snort erupted from tight lips, surprising him. Daniel shook his head, left arm reaching around to cradle his right as the ache turned back to burning. "Somehow I don't think even the American military would promote an idiot to such a lofty rank nor put Homeworld Security into his hands. Tell me you haven't convinced everyone in Washington you're as dumb as you claim to be."

"Dumb enough to think taking off without talking to you about it first was a good idea."

The momentary humor died away. Daniel had no trouble remembering the disbelief, the twisted knife in the back that nearly felled him when he'd returned to the SGC and found an unknown general standing boldly in Jack's office and telling him his best friend was gone. Remembered how he'd driven past Jack's house – a place inhabited by the ghosts of a friendship more broken than he'd let himself admit, how his calls had gone unanswered, messages unreturned.

Sam had at least sent him an email – a long note detailing her reasons for transferring to Area 51. He hadn't been blindsided by her decision. Well, not as much. Shaken by her father's death, she'd needed family, and Cassie was almost as much Sam's daughter as she'd been Janet's. They'd kept in touch.

And Teal'c had returned from Dakara to speak with Daniel face to face. How could Daniel expect Teal'c to continue at the SGC, to turn his back on his Jaffa brothers who so needed his wise counsel? It had been … bad timing … that Teal'c had returned to find Daniel hurt and angry and devastated by Jack's sudden absence. Daniel had felt the big man's even bigger heart nearly breaking for him, willing to stay, to put all of his life's goals on hold to help hold Daniel together. He shook his head. At least he hadn't been selfish enough to ask him to.

He looked down, watching his fingers pluck at the blanket that covered him to the waist. Flimsy thing, it didn't provide much in the way of warmth; it wasn't plush against his skin, didn't ground him by its weight. In the perfectly adjusted air of the Ancient city, there wasn't much need for protection against errant breezes or faulty ventilation. No, it was purely psychological – a thin but visible buffer, a shield between the wounded patient and the impersonal, casual view of those passing by. The touch of professional hands – hands that showed compassion, but no true connection. Right now Daniel wished it was made of lead that he could wrap around his heart.

"Hey, talk to me." Jack's voice penetrated Daniel's thin veneer of control and dragged him back from his last ditch attempt at distance.

Anger spiked. "What do you want me to say, Jack? You didn't want to talk to me then, made that pretty damn clear. Why now? Why, suddenly, do you want to try to go back in time and dredge this up again?" He instinctually lifted his arm to gesture, to wave away the past that was rapidly zeroing in on them, but the movement set off another bout of pain and he clenched his teeth, his left hand steadying him against the mattress, fisting the rumpled sheets.

"Because, Daniel."

Jack's hand covered his fist, not holding, not subduing, just gently reminding Daniel to relax; that Jack was not trying to hurt him. Daniel pulled in a deep, slow breath and let it go, breathing out the pain. After a moment he met Jack's eyes again.

"'Because?' That's all you've got?"

Jack's smile was grim. "No. It's just a beginning. And, frankly, any explanation I could give for pulling the plug on our friendship sounds pretty damned petty even inside my own head."

Dammit. Daniel's body was betraying him. Emotions ran just beneath his skin, racing along his nerves. Anger. Hurt. Sorrow. Bitter resistance. They heated his cheeks, drew tears towards the surface, turned the words he'd always imagined spewing out at Jack, given this chance, to dust and ashes. He stared, unwilling to open his mouth – to let Jack see straight into his soul.

And Jack stared back. Open. Trusting. Patient.

Finally, the words came. "What's petty is that you didn't think I'd figure it out."

"_What_?" Jack frowned, something like fear glittering in his brown eyes.

Daniel pressed his head back against the pillows. "That's what hurt, Jack," he whispered, "that's what stopped my calls, my emails, that's what broke my …" He chewed up the unuttered word and swallowed it. "Yes, I figured it out. How angry, how resentful you were that you'd been banned from active duty. How your entire self-image - crusty soldier, veteran man of action, protecting older brother - had been blotted out by the doctors' reports and that every time you'd have to watch us go through the 'gate that knife would be twisted deeper and deeper."

"You knew-"

He felt the two words as if they were body-blows, aimed to take him out, to send him, sucking air, right to the mat. Daniel supposed it was a good thing that he was already lying flat on his back. "There – right there. That's what … _killed_ me, Jack." He forced the words out; through the disappointment, through the devastating knowledge that Jack had never understood, never really trusted him. "That you didn't think I'd understand. That you didn't think I'd have done anything – _anything_ – to help."

Why was Jack smiling?

"Ah, Danny." The older man wiped one hand over his face. "We're quite the pair aren't we?" Watery eyes looked down at him. "See, that's exactly that I knew you would do."

"You –" _What?_

Jack's hand pressed against his, reminding Daniel of their connection. "You forget - I know you, Danny. I was there to watch nearly every brilliant revelation, every time your brain – or your empathy – let you see what others couldn't. Every time you put yourself into the line of fire to save someone else." Jack's sudden frown was chilling. "I was there on Shyla's planet. On Klorel's ship. On Abydos. Daniel," his voice was rough with unshed tears, "I was there on Kelowna. _I know you_."

Daniel's throat wasn't filled with dust. No, it was too thick, too cloying for that. "Then why?"

"Because," Jack repeated. "Because I knew exactly what you'd do. After you'd tried to argue the doctors and bureaucrats out of it, after you'd contacted the Tok'ra for their healing device, after you'd figured out what I already knew – dragging me backwards through that minefield of 'hopes' and 'maybes' right along with you – after that, you'd have sent in for your own transfer, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would, Jack. We were friends, dammit, you were my best friend, how could I-"

A familiar wry smile lit up Jack's face. "More than friends, Danny."

The heat that had bloomed on Daniel's cheeks, the embarrassment, the rage, collapsed down into a warm well of affection that lodged just beneath his breast-bone. _Yes_. More than friends, his soul insisted, so hungry for that bond, that tie, once so tight and strong that it had all but held Daniel together. For Daniel, Jack was so much more.

"Yeah," Jack nodded, as if he heard Daniel's unspoken words, the child-like voice that sounded from the center of his being, pleading for understanding, for connection.

Daniel closed his eyes, ignoring the trail of moisture that tracked across his cheeks down towards his pillow. One crooked thumb brushed them away. A callused hand ruffled his hair. Not in mockery, this time. Not coupled with distance-keeping sarcasm or flippant, biting tones. For a moment, Daniel wanted to twist away, to keep himself still and unmoved, protected, to hold back that little boy within him who held out his arms to this man – so trusting, so … hollow. Empty.

Jack's hip nudged closer, the bed dipping under his weight. The hand still pressed against his squeezed, once. "I'm sorry, Daniel."

Daniel's stoic resistance, his much vaunted independence and self-reliance dissolved. Beneath Jack's hold, eyes still closed, he turned his hand over and held on through the storm.

Gradually, calm settled against Daniel's skin like a thick blanket, soothing him towards rest for weary, tangling emotions, towards peace for warring thoughts and regrets. His few tears had dried. The press of memory had lifted, resolving anger and bitterness into well-traveled ruts of misunderstanding.

When he opened his eyes, he found Jack. Friend. Family. Brother. Right beside him.

"You didn't want me to resign. To offer to follow you to Washington."

"Not because I didn't want you around," Jack was quick to answer. "But, at the time … well, I've never liked the phrase 'for your own good,' but it kinda applies here."

Daniel smiled. "Especially since your feelings weren't completely altruistic, were they?"

"Ah, no. Pretty selfish, actually."

"You didn't want me to tank my career and you didn't want to have to look at me and see, what, the healthy, young, Jack O'Neill of the past? Better looking, of course."

"You wish." Jack paused, obviously reluctant to voice some bitter dregs of truth that were clinging – with a death grip – to the edges of his memory. "More like I was afraid of what I'd eventually see, Daniel. That, eventually, you'd figure out that hanging around with an old fart whose biggest hope for excitement was a couple of good hockey games and season tickets to the Ass-kissing Olympics was nothing compared to heading through the wormhole to meet new cultures. There's not much meaning of life stuff in DC, trust me."

Daniel tried to slide his hand away from Jack's, masking the defensive shift with a twist of his hips, as if seeking a more comfortable position. Jack wasn't buying it – his eyes narrowed and he held on. Tight.

"Okay, what did I say now?" the decorated general whined.

"'Trust me.' That's exactly what you've never done, Jack, is trust me. Trust me to know you, to know myself, really. I'm not talking about trusting me to protect myself out in the field," Daniel added, seeing the immediate skepticism written all over Jack's face, "I relied on you and Teal'c for that. You sit here and remind me that you 'know me,' and I just, I just can't believe that. You don't know me, Jack, if you think I'd ever blame you for a decision like that, a decision I made."

"So that's not what you're doing – what you did – taking off for Atlantis like this?"

Daniel frowned. "What? No. _No_," Daniel insisted, anger making a feeble attempt to rise again. "I might have blamed you for _your_ decisions, Jack, for making sure that I knew that I had no place in them. But all I was trying to do was take back my life, to make decisions for _my_ future." He shook his head. "Can you really blame me for trying to protect myself, for once? Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

Jack was pale, intense, the muscle that jumped and bunched in his jaw telling Daniel that he was trying hard to stay still, to stay in this moment and finish this conversation. "Not punishing me? Giving me a 'taste of my own medicine?'"

Self-honesty grabbed back Daniel's immediate denial. "I guess, somewhere down deep, I hoped it would affect you." He held Jack's gaze, pouring out acknowledgment and apology with every ounce of truth in his being. He had wanted to hurt Jack, wanted him to feel what it was like even as he didn't let himself believe that his distance would mean a thing to his former best friend.

Daniel saw the moment when Jack forgave him. Watched the dawning of light behind those deep-set eyes again. And he matched it with a determined, all-encompassing absolution of his own. Was it too easy? No, nothing about the past few years – or this conversation - had been easy. But it was – purely and entirely – _them_. Jack and Daniel. Oil and water. He chuckled. Shake it up enough and you had a pretty good salad dressing.

Shaking his head, confused, Jack laughed, too.

Only one thing left now. Daniel squared aching shoulders. "But you know I've wanted to do this for years, Jack. To come here, to the city of the Ancients. To lose myself in pure research."

"I know."

"I'm staying." Staying might even be easier now, now that he had stopped running. Now that he could stop being afraid to look over his shoulder. Now that it was Jack he'd see standing there if he did.

"I know that, too."

Silence built up around them, soundless memories weaving through the empty spaces that had been like barriers between them. All those layers of mistrust, of hurt and anger, were dissipating, dissolving in the face of this sudden, unexpected frankness. Words – maybe they hadn't deserted Daniel after all. Maybe he could still use them to reach out, to build bridges instead of burning them. Maybe.

"And, on that note," Jack smiled. "I have some … news."


	27. Chapter 27

A Moving Sea Ch 27

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

"… oh, yeah, well I was once forcibly addicted to an enzyme from the Wraith – it made me super strong and superfast and really, really tough. I took out two guards – two big – huge – guards so I could get back to Atlantis. The withdrawal from that was horrible – terrible pain. Carson could tell you-"

"Goa'uld sarcophagus addiction. 1998. Beat up some airmen, a petite doctor, and nearly shot my best friend."

Jack stayed quietly in the shadow of the lab's doorway listening to the odd back and forth. McKay was animated – heck, when wasn't he? – pacing through the small room with a data tablet held lovingly in one arm. His voice was loud, as if he was making some sort of point. Some feet to the left, Daniel sat, barely moving, before a large screen filled with Ancient text, tapping now and then on a keyboard placed next to his left hand: the fidgety scientist's polar opposite. His few replies were dry, drained of emotion or curiosity; he merely let the words fall out of his mouth and into the air.

"Oh." McKay turned back towards Daniel, frowning. "Right. I remember hearing about that." He paused, eyes searching the empty air before him – maybe for inspiration, Jack figured. Maybe he had a mental filing system for all the crap that the Pegasus galaxy had thrown his way.

"Okay, how about the time – times, more than once, actually - where I was captured by the Genii and tortured for information?"

Daniel poked at a couple of keys. "Apophis. Honduran rebels. Adria. Take your pick."

Jack grimaced. What the hell was this? Some kind of SGC Name That Wound where the guy with the biggest set of scars wins? In Daniel's case, a meandering trip down memory lane was chock full of landmines of every description and Jack should know – he'd been front row center for most of them.

"Hmm, well, okay, I'll just call that a tie then," McKay mumbled, annoyed. "Hey, I did have alien fog invade my memory and build up this whole fake inner world where I went back to –"

Jack couldn't take it any more – not McKay's apparent blindness and definitely Daniel's quiet pain. He stepped forward.

"Yeah, we've got that covered, too." He caught Daniel's startled gaze. "Gamekeeper. Hathor." And let's not go into that even one inch further, Jack shuddered to himself. "Bloody Goo of Sokar."

Daniel's small smile was filled with gratitude. "And let's not forget Merlin."

"Let's try," Jack whined.

McKay huffed impatiently. "Okay, I know you've got me with the whole actual death and ascension thing," he raised one finger, eyes glittering with victory, "but have you ever been trapped in a crashed ship at the bottom of the ocean because a huge sea monster –"

"McKay!" Jack spun, both hands up as if to physically hold back the man's torrent of words. "What the hell are you two doing? Beckett didn't release Daniel to light duty so you could dredge up all of the worst horrors of the past twelve years!"

Daniel's gaze flicked towards the other scientist. "Not my idea, Jack," he muttered in a sing-songy voice.

Clutching his tablet to his chest, McKay was still waggling that finger in the air. "Now, hear me out, General. I figured if I could simply remind Daniel of all the stuff we've been through, well, that I've been through, and how well adjusted I am, that he would, you know," the small eyes widened slowly in the face of what Jack figured was his 'you've gotta be shitting me' expression, "feel better. Be encouraged." Jack's intense scrutiny seemed to dry up the man's constant word-flow. "Get well soon," he added feebly.

"New therapy regime?" Jack threw back towards his teammate, still eying the fidgeting McKay.

"Not one that Doctor Prandahl mentioned to me, no."

Jack could still hear the unconvinced, slightly rebellious tenor to Daniel's tone every time the subject of his therapy sessions came up. The soft-spoken psychologist was growing on him, even though Daniel would never admit it. His initial resistance to the doctor's slow, patient overtures, Beckett's calm explanations, and Jack's stubborn insistence that he – finally – get the help he needed had settled into reluctant obedience. Of course, that was the only kind of 'obedience' Daniel understood.

The condition that Daniel get to ask the psychologist one question for every three of his – in his native Hindi – was something Jack had seen coming from a mile away. Thankfully, Prandahl's face had lit up upon hearing his native tongue and now the two were fast becoming more than doctor and brilliant, depressed patient. Jack smiled to himself. One thing that would never change in any universe – Daniel Jackson would make friends wherever he went.

McKay's sigh drew him back to this particular little scene of the crime. "I miss Kate Heightmeyer." The scientist was wistful, yearning.

"Good looking, was she?" Jack quipped.

"Oh, yeah," McKay replied, a slight smile tipping up the edges of his mouth. Jack watched as the guy's brain caught up and he straightened with a jerk. "What? Oh, well, yes, Doctor Heightmeyer. I suppose she was – she was a competent psychologist, okay?" He stormed off and fiddled with a console at the other end of the lab, muttering to himself.

Jack dusted off his hands and turned back to Daniel with a grin. "Ready to go?"

The shadows were still there behind his friend's blue eyes. Not even an ego as big as Jack's could believe that a few apologies and explanations could conquer the dark memories that had been gradually chewing pieces out of Daniel's soul. But he was better. Less likely to explode into rage or descend into brooding silences. He was healing.

"I'm not sure that 'ready' is the correct word," Daniel grunted, unconsciously holding his right arm – still in its cast – closer to his chest. Jack recognized it as his newest 'self-protecting' gesture.

Jack hitched one hip onto the nearest console, making sure he didn't turn on any planet-destroying tech with his butt cheek. "This is what we agreed to, Daniel. And getting you out of the lab to interact with people – that's part of Prandahl's process, too, isn't it?"

"It's not that –" Daniel cut himself off and pushed up his glasses, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Eyes closed, hand across his face – he stayed that way for a long moment.

Yeah, Daniel could make friends in any universe. With one notable exception. "So it's not 'people,'" Jack crooked his fingers, "so much as it is 'person,' right?"

The silence grew until Jack wondered if Daniel was digging in his heels again, digging in so hard that nothing would budge him from that chair until that particular 'person' was on a spaceship on his way home.

A half-groan, half-sigh preceded Daniel's hand dropping away and weary blue eyes searching Jack's face. "Just promise me one thing, Jack."

Eyebrows lifting, Jack reached out and dropped his hand onto his friend's shoulder. "Name it."

"Just tell me that I don't have to 'be the bigger man' this time."

Jack snorted and helped Daniel to his feet. "Sorry, buddy. Somehow you always end up being the bigger man."

oOo

"This was your idea wasn't it?"

Daniel smiled at the mock hostility in the whispered words. He turned from the small table, busily stirring his coffee, and pasted on an innocent mask, eyebrows high. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Steven." He blinked once, twice, until Caldwell's stern expression collapsed into an amused – slightly exasperated – shake of the head before he turned away. _That_ combination he was very familiar with, having seen it just a few minutes previously crowned by silver hair. He sipped, closing his eyes briefly and offering a silent prayer to any gods or ascended beings within the area to mercifully grant that they find a Pegasus planet rich in coffee beans soon. Going back to that swill that Rodney had offered him when he first arrived after the last of Jack's precious stash was depleted wasn't something Daniel was looking forward to.

Kinda like this meeting.

He glanced past the colonel's tall figure to check out the seating arrangements. Rodney was inching his way behind Ronon's chair, balancing his data tablet, a sheaf of papers, and a cup that matched Daniel's, as the Satedan seemed to expand to take up every molecule of space between the table and the wall. Sheppard, a few seats away next to the empty chair that Rodney was, undoubtedly, headed for, was watching with unconcealed humor. On the other side of Sheppard, Teyla was in deep conversation with Dr. Keller, the women's faces canvases on which was painted the colors of their particular personalities. Teyla was calm, deliberate, but with a thick layer of kindness muting her intensity. Keller was anxious, uncertain; her gaze flickering away from the other woman's to measure the individuals gathering around the conference table.

Steven remained at Daniel's side, hands in his pockets, having traded his flight suit for a pair of uniform pants, shirt and tie. Daniel wondered if he was uncomfortable. He shifted closer.

"Actually, it was Jack's idea," he muttered.

The colonel didn't turn, just took his own count of the people who were slowly taking their seats. "All on his own, right?"

"Pretty much," Daniel insisted. "I actually wasn't that interested in getting involved in chain of command decisions – it's not really –"

"- not really your thing, I get it," Steven met his eyes and flashed a half-smile before turning back to survey the room. "The general's little flow chart makes it obvious that your position is somewhere … sideways … to the command chain. Not unlike O'Neill's own."

Daniel cleared his throat. "I prefer to think of it as adjacent and yet not directly impinged on by the Atlantis command structure."

Caldwell turned back, pausing a moment as if to sound out the phrase within his mind. He chuckled loudly. "_Nice_," he finally grinned.

Daniel sipped his coffee, not quite hiding his smile. "It turns out, I'm pretty good with words."

"I've heard that about you."

The conference room door slid open to reveal the three men they were waiting for. Daniel felt himself take a deep breath and square his shoulders, pulling his still casted arm in tight against his chest as the ache all along his right side reminded him he wasn't long out of bed. Jack looked up and immediately found him there, pinned to Caldwell's side like a badge of office, and gave him a pleased, affirming nod. Carson Beckett and Richard Woolsey entered just a half step behind him, Carson clearly in the middle of one of his stories, capturing the bureaucrat's attention with his Scottish brogue and well-chosen words.

Carson's voice dropped away abruptly as the screech of chairs pushing back and the rustling and thudding of boots hitting the floor and people rising to their feet sounded in the suddenly still air. Jack stepped off to one side, leaving Woolsey framed by the doorway. After a moment, and a friendly pat on the back, Carson stepped away as well.

"Attention!" Daniel couldn't help reacting to the deep-voiced command coming from beside him – and didn't know a man or woman who could. He lifted his chin, and saw the exact same movement echoed in Woolsey's stiff figure on the other side of the room. And, since he was looking, he saw the dawning amazement on the small man's face as each military officer within the room lifted his right hand to salute. Including Jack O'Neill. Teyla looked utterly regal as she nodded solemnly, Keller less so as she followed the Athosian woman's lead. Ronon offered nothing more – nor less - than a grim stare, and Rodney fidgeted, with a confused, impatient expression. Woolsey took a deep breath and met every pair of eyes, acknowledging the respect and gratitude for past service. Service that was now ended.

It was Daniel that Woolsey faced last across the length of the table, bringing his shadowed gaze to meet Daniel's troubled eyes. What made up the fabric of Woolsey's shadows? Were they so different from Daniel's own? The administrator's frown deepened as he stood, obviously undecided, uncomfortable, and Daniel knew his own features reflected the same. After a long silent moment, Woolsey managed a single nod, and Daniel returned it silently. He didn't know what that exchange had meant, he just knew that it was a mutual recognition that their fight – this fight - was over. Woolsey was leaving. Daniel was staying.

Salutes snapped, Steven Caldwell stepped out from beside him and approached Atlantis' previous administrator. He held out his right hand. "Mister Woolsey, I relieve you, sir."

Woolsey's mouth was pulled into a tight line. "I believe the correct response is, 'I stand relieved.'" He shook the offered hand and then rubbed his palms together awkwardly. "Well then, I suppose I should actually … leave."

"Give it a minute," Jack added, raising his eyebrows in Caldwell's direction.

"Yes, since the Daedalus isn't going to be ready to leave for another week or so, I'd appreciate it if you could sit in on the senior staff meetings during the changeover." Steven clasped his hands behind his back. "If you wouldn't mind."

Woolsey glanced back over in Daniel's direction. "You're sure?"

And now everybody seemed to be waiting for Daniel to speak. To say something wise or profound or forgiving. Instead, he reached for the closest chair and lowered his gaze, breaking the expectant tableau. "They just want to wring out every possible drop of information and insight from you before they lose the opportunity," he stated evenly, not daring to look up.

More rustling, papers shuffling, awkward coughs. Caldwell took his place at Daniel's left, Jack at his right, and the archaeologist could feel the general discomfort of the room ratchet upwards a few notches.

"Yeah, something like that," Jack agreed, one hand patting Daniel lightly on the shoulder as if in reassurance before he settled. "Never let it be said that the SGC let anyone get away without a complete brain download. Sometimes literally. Have a seat, Richard."

oOo

After that the meeting had been, thankfully, even-toned and generally pleasant. And if Daniel never actually spoke directly to Woolsey, well, he hadn't pointedly ignored him, either. Caldwell, Sheppard, and Jack were going out of their way to make the transition smooth and painless, while Woolsey maintained his professional composure, answering questions openly, making tentative suggestions without that undergirding of arrogance and superiority he'd thrown at Daniel when he'd arrived in the city. It had been … troubling.

During some of the discussion Daniel had found himself studying the man out of the corner of his eye, looking for the confrontational, condemning bureaucrat who had come into SG-1's life at one of its darkest moments and had done nothing but accuse and dismiss Daniel ever since – personally as well as professionally. Their first meeting in Atlantis had convinced Daniel that Woolsey had not changed – he was still a twister of facts, an opportunist, a politician, eager for reputation and standing. Someone to fight, to oppose on every level. Daniel's enemy. But now, studying mannerisms, body language, facial tics, Daniel could barely find that man.

Was he still there, beneath the reserved, amiable surface? Were there strategies and agenda even now being tied together in intricate knots to garner Woolsey's reinstatement and Daniel's dismissal? Daniel had fidgeted, his anxiety level growing as his mind tried to piece together the puzzle of Richard Woolsey and found that the sharp, cutting edges of his memories would not fit with the earnest, reserved professional sitting across the table.

It took Jack's not-so-tentative boot in the shin to distract him from his thoughts and remind him of the discussion going on around him. Not much was being required of him – but Daniel was experienced enough in all things Stargate to know that couldn't last. As the head of the new Cultural Research Division on Atlantis, Daniel's work would be largely background, providing assistance to exploration and diplomatic teams when needed but rarely venturing off-world. He was in no shape – in any way he'd care to be measured – to be going off-world and he knew it. The pain was manageable – just - but the depression and guilt that had driven him from his home out into Pegasus still lingered. It was Jack's unexpected – and apologetic – presence that gave Daniel reason to hope that there might still be something out there for him to discover, something to inspire and move him. A future.

Knowing that his friend had pled Daniel's case before the highest government officials and close-minded military officers and had wrestled official Atlantis postings for both of them was more than he had ever imagined.

He received Jack's unspoken message when the semi-retired Air Force general sent Daniel a look over his shoulder as he'd escorted Woolsey and Caldwell out the door. Daniel was due to have his cast removed this afternoon, and Jack would meet him in the infirmary later. Until then, he was reminded to avoid any more 'helpful conversations' with Rodney, and specifically _not_ to avoid his scheduled doses of medication. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Jack seemed to have descended gracefully from decorated flyboy to annoying mother hen with no stops in between. Frowning, Daniel took stock of those inner voices which had been his constant companions for so long. Yes, there was a general consensus – that he'd never reveal to his friend – that Daniel kinda liked this new/old Jack O'Neill. Protector. Encourager. Straight-talker. Comrade. Friend.

Laptop carefully braced between his chest and the thick cast on his arm, Daniel grabbed up the thick sheaf of papers he seemed to have collected and made his way towards the door. Atlantis was much more 'paperless' than the SGC had ever been – no matter how much Sam had tried. Ironically for a fellow scientist and teammate, Daniel had often been one of the main thorns in her side on that quest. She'd never understood that the feel of thick parchment beneath his fingers, the tactile sensation of turning pages, the musty scent that had defined every library he'd ever felt at home in – Daniel loved the written word. Not electrons grouped together on a screen, but the actual scratching of pens and pencils. Maybe the Ancient technology and clean lines and surfaces of Atlantis would change him. He smiled as the door slid closed behind him. Change could be good. It was his new mantra.

The steps down from the admin level still surprised him – caught him off guard every time. They were proportioned oddly – felt strange to his weary muscles. Three-quarters of the way down he realized he'd started down too fast. His fingers clutched the paperwork in one hand, his arm cradled the heavy laptop in the other. Off balance, hip joints aching with every faltering, jolting step, he realized he was about to lose them both. His mind raced through several scenarios that allowed him to rescue the falling papers, keep the laptop from a fatal trip to the ground, and keep himself from tripping down the last few steps and landing on his butt – each more unlikely than the last.

Hands reached out and steadied him – one catching his left elbow and the other folding around his white-knuckled grip on his papers. Daniel blew out a breath in relief. And then he realized whose hands had rescued him.

"Doctor Jackson. I thought you were going to get that cast off today, not try to get yourself a new one."

"Uh – thank you, Mister Woolsey, no, uh – " He felt the heat rising up his neck and into his face, tripping his tongue over his words. He applied mental brakes and forced himself to meet the other man's amused stare. "Believe me, I'd rather avoid another cast if at all possible. I had forgotten how annoying it makes every single moment of one's life."

Woolsey stepped up beside him, still holding on. "I remember breaking my collarbone as a child –"

Daniel frowned. "They put you in a cast for that?"

"Yes, back in the olden days," Woolsey replied dryly. "As I was saying, I can imagine it was somewhat similar. I found it difficult to live my life one-handed."

Daniel hazarded another step down, Woolsey following along, tethered to his side by the leash of his unwanted concern. The uncomfortable silence expanded around them and Daniel cast about for a topic – a safe topic. But how do you begin a casual conversation with a man you had fired from his position as administrator of an Ancient city in another galaxy? With a man who had been painted as 'enemy' and 'distrusted' and 'dangerous' in bright neon letters across Daniel's mind's eye?

"I'm glad we ran into each other, Doctor Jackson."

_That makes one of us_, Daniel thought. At the bottom of the stairs now, he glanced over at the guards stationed near the Atlantis 'gate who were, suddenly and quite casually, extremely busy checking their weapons.

Woolsey moved in front of him, shielding the closest guard from Daniel's glare, and tugged the last few sheets from Daniel's tenuous grip. Squaring them up in his hands, eyebrows high as if poised for flight, Woolsey began. "I just wanted you to know …" he cleared his throat and started again. "I wanted to let you know that –"

Daniel couldn't stand it any longer. "Look, Mister Woolsey," he interrupted. "I know you probably blame me for your orders, and rightly so-"

"Doctor Jackson." The administrator held one hand up between them. "That's exactly what I wanted to tell you. I assure you that I don't blame you for this change of assignment. In fact," the man looked decidedly uncomfortable, as if he'd been forced to swallow some bitter pill, "I believe some things have finally been set right."

"You do?" Woolsey's quiet tone made Daniel lean closer. "I'm pretty sure that I don't understand." No, not at all. Tension. Animosity. Resentment. Those feelings he'd completely understand – and, most days, reciprocate. Any other feelings, any excuses or explanations – Daniel was quite sure he didn't want to hear about them.

The smaller man sighed. "I've been placed in awkward positions for most of my life, Doctor Jackson. I considered it somewhat of a specialty." His smile seemed sad, remorseful. "And, I must admit, I've sometimes reveled in placing others there with me."

Daniel nodded, the tension within him surging like an encroaching tide. He wanted away – back to his small lab, to the infirmary – anywhere. But here he stood, stuck in place by Woolsey's softening gaze.

"And then I met your team, SG-1, and I realized – not right away, I'm sure you'll agree – that you people were much more advanced in all things awkward, alien, and downright incomprehensible than I would ever be." Woolsey dropped his gaze for a moment before straightening his shoulders and staring straight into Daniel's eyes. "And I hope you'll allow me the fact that I've learned and, most of the time, have avoided making the same mistake twice." He paused, acknowledging Daniel's slight nod with a quick smile of gratitude. "Except, for some reason, whenever it is I find myself in a situation with you."

"Yeah, why is that?" Daniel finally asked. "Why me? Why is it you can get along with Jack when you have to, with Sam and Mitchell and Landry on Earth, or even with McKay and Sheppard and the people here on Atlantis, but one measly little archaeologist turns you into …" Daniel shook his head and shrugged, at a loss for a fittingly cutting metaphor.

"A pissant bureaucrat with a chip on his shoulder?"

Daniel considered, waggling his head back and forth. "Okay, yeah, I think I was going for asshole, snake in the grass, two-faced idiot, but potato/potahto." A slight movement and sound from over Woolsey's shoulder caught his attention and he shot out another glare in the 'coughing' guard's direction. "Should we…?" he jerked his chin towards the closest hallway

"Perhaps," Woolsey allowed, following him a little farther from the listening – and chuckling – airman.

"Believe it or not," the bureaucrat continued once their steps had carried them beyond the 'Gate Room, "it was our first meeting that set the tone for our future interaction."

"I'd agree – unfortunately." In the wake of Janet's death, when SG-1 was at their lowest – mourning, angry, blaming themselves – and each other – for not keeping her safe, not realizing in time what kind of enemy numbers SG-13 was facing, Woolsey had ridden in, his reins still held tightly in Kinsey's fist, and had bullied and badgered them until the stresses multiplied a hundred fold.

"Please remember that any information that I received concerning the SGC had come from Senator Kinsey," Woolsey explained. "He told me of O'Neill's insubordinate, stubborn leadership, of Major Carter's wasted brilliance, of Teal'c's alien strength and knowledge of tactics, but you, well, you he simply labeled an overly emotional opportunist who was trying desperately to use the Stargate program to win back some sort of academic credibility."

Daniel pulled away, blinking, amazed that this man still had the ability to wound him. "Well, thanks for that," he spat. _Conversation over. Now._

Woolsey stepped in closer, his face pale, hands out to either side as if to cage Daniel in. "Please, Doctor Jackson. These are the senator's words, not mine. Not anymore."

Swallowing against the roiling storm in his gut, Daniel was desperate to get away from this man, to put his associations with Richard Woolsey behind him once and for all. "I don't –" _I don't believe you,_ he had intended to say. _I'll never believe you. And why the hell should I?_

"What I wanted to say, what I would like the opportunity to tell you, is that what I saw in that interrogation room, _who_ I saw there was a very angry, very grieved, very _young_ man. And later, when I went to the infirmary to discuss Doctor Frasier with her colleagues, I saw that same man so weighed down by the burdens that our military and the SGC had placed upon him that he had fallen apart."

"You – you saw?" Daniel was beyond anger, now; beyond betrayal or resentment. All of the heat, the rage, that had begun to build up dropped away into that well of sorrow within him. He remembered seeking out the room in which he'd died, the place that had absorbed something of his pain and despair and even more of Janet's depth of caring and love for him – for each one of them. He remembered dropping down into a shadowed corner, hidden away from friends and enemies alike, and finally, dropping his guard and allowing the tears to come. He'd sobbed. He'd raged. No one had known, no one had seen, Daniel had made certain of that. That his breakdown had been witnessed by _Woolsey_ … Oh, God, he was going to throw up. Closing his eyes he sent out a silent prayer for rescue. An enemy attack. An unscheduled wormhole activation. _Anything_.

"What I saw, what I thought I saw, was that you were beyond over your head, Doctor Jackson. That, although brilliant and clever and eloquent, you were still a young man with too much responsibility on his shoulders."

An icy chill drenched Daniel from head to toe; it sucked away his breath and held him, immobile, eyes wide open to stare this man – and his own memory – in the face. "You had no idea – you –" Daniel ground his teeth together to stop them from chattering. "I had lost a friend, a good friend, damn you." His voice was thin and jagged as it tore its way out. "I'd held her in my arms and carried her limp body back to the 'gate, I -"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Woolsey hurried to interrupt, his face screwed up in regret. "Doctor Jackson – I'm sorry. The man I was, the man who made those assumptions about you had a powerful senator's agenda and an accountant's mind. Toting up figures and statistics and somehow thinking that summed up an individual. And, to my shame, I allowed those early assumptions to color each and every one of our future interactions."

Weak. Broken. Emotional. Daniel frowned, his muscles clenching in tight spasms as he tried to deny the adjectives, to brush them away with that fine disregard he'd always had for brainless jerks that took one look at him and placed him in a category. Any category. Dweeb. Geek. Loser.

"Daniel's anything but weak."

"I think I'd second that motion."

The air moved behind him and Daniel felt himself surrounded, enfolded within the heat of anger, the protective warmth of concern; affection. Two solid shoulders braced him; two hands held him steady; two voices melted the ice that had tried to encase his heart. Rescue had come hidden behind black Atlantis BDUs, a shock of dark hair and close-cropped silver. And, suddenly, Daniel could stand, balanced between them, and yet on his own two feet.

"I know that," Woolsey insisted, chin lifted in defiance of the solid wall of bodies set before him. "I was just telling Doctor Jackson that I'd come to realize that there must be a deep well of strength within him to have seen him through the horrors he's experienced. And to apologize to him for seeing that much too late."

"And I'm wondering," Sheppard droned from Daniel's left, arms crossing over his chest, "if this big 'apology' is more for your benefit than it could possibly be for Daniel's."

"My thoughts exactly," Jack chimed in, mimicking the colonel's gesture. "Anytime you remind a guy of one of the worst moments in his life, I've gotta wonder if you're just trying to, I don't know, help me out here Sheppard –"

"Stick the knife in and give it a twist? Kind of a parting shot?"

Daniel felt Jack's anger vibrate through his casual amusement. "Got it in one."

"Gentlemen, I had no intention …"

The honest sorrow, the grimace of regret, the tightly-woven shadows behind small, dark eyes – Woolsey's expressions flicked through Daniel's memories, clear and precise, untainted by his own grief or despair or enmity. Jack and Sheppard's appearance had allowed him to take a step back from his emotions, their support combined with his waning self-confidence letting him slide sideways away from his pain to examine the tableau before him as a pure scientist should. He saw the evidence, examined the shards of memory, placed it all in context, and formed his conclusion. And then breathed deeply and let it go.

"I believe you, Richard."

"You – "

"… you _do_?"

"Daniel – I – "

Daniel shook his head at the various shades of disbelief and suspicion coloring those few muttered words. Strength reached up from a source long-untapped within him; it loosened his aching muscles and illuminated the long-neglected portions of his mind. And he found himself looking Richard Woolsey in the eye and seeing the man there – the changed man – not a demon or a monster or a cardboard cut-out reminder of Daniel's own failures. Just a man who fumbled with words, who had tried hard to access his emotions and turn them into a connection. And knew that he had failed. "I think I understand, Richard."

Listening to Jack's blustering, John Sheppard's quiet questioning, and watching Woolsey's barefaced, unashamed relief, Daniel wondered if, maybe, this was all he'd ever needed – all that he'd been missing since Jack's defection from his position as best friend and supporter all those years ago. Maybe more than half of Daniel's problems had begun when he'd found himself in free-fall, alone, suddenly bereft of the tight chains of friendship that had become the foundation of his being. He'd forgotten how to be alone, how to be that reclusive, rebellious loner who had a skin so thick not even a suicidal, crew-cut military goon could make a dent in his self-assurance. Instead of stepping aside and letting the horrors and doubts and fears of life in the SGC flow on around him, he'd absorbed them, taken them in and given them a dark, churning life of their own.

All Daniel had needed was someone he'd allow in past his armor, under his guard, someone he'd trust with access to those shadowy, hidden places. A friend. He glanced aside at Sheppard. Friends. Plural. He'd done Teal'c and Sam – even Mitchell and Vala – a disservice. He'd kept them out. Held them at arm's length. Once burned, twice shy. Fool me once …

It was time to trust again. And who better to start with than someone he never imagined he could make peace with?

Shifting the laptop to his left arm, Daniel stuck out his right hand towards the small man before him, ignoring Jack's nearly apoplectic movement beside him. "I'm sorry, Richard."

He watched Woolsey swallow, pull himself together, and then begin to release some of the shadows he, too, had built up around himself. He stretched out his right hand and then frowned, unsure how to proceed with Daniel's thick cast.

Daniel stepped forward, reached past the hand, and settled his cast – forearm to forearm – with the other man, the tips of his fingers gripping as well as they could. "We'll have to do this the Jaffa way," he offered.

Woolsey stepped in to meet him, suspicious moisture in his eyes. "I –" He took a breath. "I am honored, Doctor Jackson."

"Daniel."

"Daniel."

Their long moment of connection ended, and Woolsey nodded to Sheppard and Jack before walking away, his shoulders relaxed, his steps even.

The two military men watched with Daniel a moment before turning to face him. Jack was shaking his head, the iron mask of anger slipping back towards relief. And then amusement.

"What?" Daniel demanded, uncomfortable with the half-smiling regard.

"Told you," Jack quipped.

Daniel sought out an explanation from Sheppard, but only received a shrug and a casual wave as the colonel walked off.

"Told me, what, Jack?"

One warm, callused hand reached up and clasped the back of Daniel's neck and Jack leaned in, whispering. "I told you you'd always be the bigger man."

End

_**A/N: Many, many thanks to those faithful readers who took the time to send encouraging comments, to those who've favorited me or my stories, and to those who simply read.**_


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